


Warmth

by JRA3933



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Post-Apocalypse, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 86,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRA3933/pseuds/JRA3933
Summary: What's the difference between living and surviving?At first Sansa thought he was one of them, one of those things. She’d never been so close to one before. A scream rose in her throat, but seemed to solidify, blocking her airway.Then the mouth opened, and something like a laugh came out. They don’t laugh, at least not that Sansa ever heard.“What, you think I was going to eat you?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an aspiring writer, trying very hard to improve my writing style. Please, critique!

At first Sansa thought he was one of them, one of those _things._ She’d never been so close to one before. A scream rose in her throat, but seemed to solidify, blocking her airway.

 

Then the mouth opened, and something like a laugh came out. They don’t _laugh,_ at least not that Sansa ever heard.

 

“What, you think I was going to eat you?”

 

She stepped back quickly, fractionally widening the space between them. “No, of course not.” The scars, now that she looked at them again, were white, twisted, and horrific, but clearly old. He might not be one of _them,_ but that didn't mean he wasn’t a danger. He was certainly bigger than any man Sansa had ever seen. The man made no move to back away, to give her any relative feeling of safety. The gas station wasn't big to begin with and it felt as though he filled the short isle from end to end. How _had_ he gotten in so quietly? She quickly glanced to the side. The door really wasn't that far away. Running had never been her strong suit, but if she surprised him-

 

A large hand settled on her arm, just below the shoulder. “Don’t go running away now. I thought we agreed I wasn't going to eat you.”

 

The edge of the shelf dug into her back. “I don’t want any trouble. I was just out getting some food. My fam- my brothers, they’re waiting for me-”

 

“You’re a bad liar, little bird.” But he let go of her arm, and finally stepped away slightly. Sansa let out her breath in a loud gush of air. “I should really-”

 

“You have a place near here?”

 

She said nothing.

 

“Of course you do. Couldn’t get far on your own. You have room for one more.”

 

The way he said it didn’t sound like a question. Sansa opened her mouth, but she didn’t quite know what to say. He shifted in place, and she suddenly became aware of the rest of him, his scars and his size having taken up her entire perception. Big he may be, and muscled, but his clothes seemed to hang on his frame. His eyes looked over-bright, and the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead belied the cool breeze.

 

From the look of him, the length of his hair and beard, he’d been on the road for some time. Sansa’s seen his type before, and steered well clear of them. A large knife rested easily on his hip.

 

He hadn’t asked a question, but he seemed to be waiting for an answer nonetheless. She nodded, as though she had any other choice. She turned her back to him then, and crouched over her pack again. Her heart was beating hard, seemingly loud enough to echo off the walls. The rest of the soup cans were gracelessly shoved in, and she closed and shouldered the bag. Neither spoke as they left the gas station, and Sansa turned towards home.

 

He was keeping very close to her as they made the short walk to her house. When they turned off the main road down the long, overgrown front path, it occurred to her that she could perhaps dodge in, and lock the gate or door behind her. The man’s breathing was labored, and she knew that leaving him out here, within the fence or not, could be a death sentence. There were always more of _them_ at night. He seemed to have had the same thought, because as they approached the gate, he gripped her arm again. His hand was shaking and clammy looking, but his grip was strong. He did not release her until they were through the gate, through the yard, and inside of the house.

 

Once they were in the entrance way, the door safely locked behind them, he seemed to relax a bit. He turned to examine to his surroundings, seemingly ignoring Sansa for the moment. As he unhooked his bag from his shoulder, Sansa saw a smear of blood edging out from under his sleeve.

 

“You’re bit?”

 

She edged backwards into the kitchen. The fever-

 

“No, it was glass.”

 

“Can I see?”

 

He let out a slight grunt, and rolled up his sleeve, removing the makeshift bandage. The wound bled sluggishly, clearly fresh- long and thin, with no ragged tears or teeth marks.

 

The man didn’t say anything. He replaced the bandage, and strode quickly through the house, opening doors, disappearing briefly into rooms. It didn't take long- the house was tiny really, much smaller than her old suite had been.

 

“I thought you _knew_ I was alone.” Sansa couldn't help but let a little sarcasm edge into her voice. He didn't answer; didn’t even _look_ at her. He just unstrapped a dirty-looking blanket from his pack, snapped it out briskly, and promptly fell asleep on Sansa’s sofa.

 

The sheer audacity of it paralyzed her. She stood stock still for a moment, not taking her eyes from him. The thought of the knives in the drawer entered her mind, but the idea was quickly discarded. She could leave- perhaps should leave. But entrancewaywhere would she go? The light was fading quickly. Sansa hurriedly moved her bag, stuffed full of cans, into the bedroom, where the closet and drawers gaped open from his impromptu search. She dragged the last case of water bottles in as well, along with the remainder in the pot on the stove for good measure.

 

Sansa looked back at the man- he hadn’t stirred all this time. The light was almost gone now. She lit her glass-jarred candle with one of her remaining matches, and she carried it back into the sitting room, keeping carefully out of arm’s reach of the sofa. He looked truly ridiculous on it- it was far from tiny, but his legs spilled over the far end as though it were a love seat. Even in the faint light, Sansa could see his breath coming slightly too fast, and the circles under his eyes. She wondered how long it'd been since he slept. Clothes, skin, and hair alike were filthy.

 

After a brief hesitation, she retreated back into her bedroom and returned with three of the bottles. She placed them beside the sofa, and skipped backwards to the relative safety of the kitchen.

 

It wasn't until she'd picked up the candle again that she saw that his eyes were open.

 

“I won’t hurt you, you know.” The light was reflecting off of his eyes, but he didn’t blink. “You don't have to creep around like a fucking mouse. I won't hurt you.”

 

And with that, his eyes slid closed again.

 

Sansa backed into her bedroom, and pulled the door closed. There was no lock on the door, something she’d never had cause to notice before. The front door had seemed like enough. It took some work, but the chest of drawers seemed to seal the door nicely. A man of his size might be able to break in, if he really set his mind to it, but it was the best she could do.

 

The absolute absurdity of the situation struck her then. A large, dangerous-looking man had forced his way into her home, and had told her off for being afraid. It was all well and good for _him_ to say that. _He_ was not in her shoes, and never would be. Part of Sansa wanted to storm back out into the living room and rant about it to him. Another part was leaning towards opening the window, climbing out, and running off into the night. Sansa did neither. Instead, she opened a can of soup, sitting at her desk. Only once it was sufficiently warmed over her candle did she realize she had no spoon. She fished chunks of meat and vegetables out with her fingers, washing them down with careful sips of broth from the can.

 

What should she do tomorrow? While she certainly could try to demand he leave, she had no illusions about her ability to force him to do so. Sansa wasn't even sure she should ask him to. It’d been months since she had really seen another person. A living one, anyway. It felt as though it was her humane responsibility now not to add to the body count, even indirectly. But who knew what this man would do once he woke.

 

Maybe she should leave. But where would she go? She was only relatively safe here, in the woods with her fence.

 

What would Mother do? If Mother were in her position, she wasn’t quite sure. She did think her mother would want _Sansa_ to try and eject him somehow. Rob would try to force him to leave for her, but Rob wasn't here. Sansa sipped at the lukewarm broth, and watched the blocked door. It didn't move, nor was there any sound from beyond it.

 

Arya now- Arya would ensure he woke him with a knife to the throat. Arya would demand he leave. But even if she could get the nerve to do that, he might wake before she was in position. He had woken when she’d brought the water. _If_ he’d been asleep in the first place. Besides, even if she somehow got him outside there was no saying he would leave. He might carry a grudge and wait for her to open the door, as she would undoubtedly have to at some point.

 

What would Father say, if she could ask him for advice? Sansa could picture his calm grey eyes, and the way he had always stroked his chin when he was thinking. He would tell her, she thought, to watch and wait. There really was no other sensible option. She had a popsicle’s chance in a fight. She had seen the large knife on his hip, and the potential bulge of a gun under his shirt. Both were with him on the couch. The only thing she could do was be careful as possible. Maybe she should stay barricaded in here until he left.

 

Swallowing the last of the broth, Sansa retreated to the cool sheets and thick blankets of her bed, fully dressed, removing only her boots. She thought of the knives in the kitchen drawer again. She wished she had thought to bring one in with her. Despite the tense knot in her stomach as she glanced at the door, she fell asleep quickly, the sheets warming around her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will try to update several times a week.

Bright morning light had Sansa blinking awake, muzzily at first, and then sitting bolt upright as the events of the previous day returned to her. The dresser was still in place, the door still shut. But she could hear quiet movements beyond it. Swinging her legs out of bed, Sansa sat on the edge. She would stay in here, she would have to. She had food, and water to last for a few days at least. More if she really rationed. The man would rest, and he would leave. Or he wouldn't. In which case the blocked door would seem very prudent.

 

An insistent pressure reminded her of the one thing she had forgotten in last night’s hasty preparations- the bucket in the bathroom. Sansa eyed the empty soup can, and immediately discarded the idea. The window now- but no. It was too small. And she had sealed it properly weeks ago, when the cold weather had started. Undoing her hard work would only provide him with another entrance, if he was truly determined to get in. And if he wasn’t, well, then the whole exercise would be pointless anyway. Sansa pulled on an extra pair of socks before stomping her feet firmly into her boots, and pulling on her knit cap, tucking her hair underneath. It was the coldest morning she could remember, since it had begun.

 

When she left the bedroom, he watched as she walked across to the bathroom. Sansa shut the door behind her. She hurried in the cold air, trying to preserve the warmth of her bed, and trying hard not to think about the fact that he had clearly used the bucket as well. She’d have to empty it soon. When she emerged, she stood across the room from him. He was sitting at her small kitchen table, and rubbing a rag over his very large, sharp-looking knife. Sansa cleared her throat, and his eyes met hers. His hands didn’t stop at their task.

 

“You said you won’t hurt me. Do you mean that?”

 

He put the knife aside. “I don’t make a habit of saying things I don’t mean.”

 

Sansa wasn't sure what the proper response might be to this. “Well,  _ I  _ don't make a habit of having people in my home without knowing their names. I’m Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

 

“Sandor Clegane.” The sleep seemed to have done him some good. His eyes were still overbright, but the sweat was gone from his brow. His hands were steady as he continued checking his gear. The bulge under the front of his shirt did turn out to be a gun after all, a small pistol. He began to disassemble and clean the weapon. These actions, foreign to Sansa’s eyes, were clearly well practiced. He did not look at her again, his eyes fixed on his task.

 

Sansa wanted to admonish him somehow, express that a simple “I won’t hurt you” was not  _ enough _ to counterbalance muscling your way into somebody’s home. She didn't quite dare.

 

The rest of the morning passed in utter silence. Sansa ate a cup of sugary cereal from the gas station, thoroughly missing milk. She had always drunk skim, Before. The grey rain pattered steadily on the roof, and the man slept on the sofa. His weapons were back on his hip and under his shirt. Sansa sat watching him, for what felt like a long time. He didn’t move. She risked several quick sprints to the backyard, first to empty and rinse the bucket, and then for water from the stream.

 

She wondered, as she always did, if trusting the water flowing under her fence and through her backyard was really wise. She always boiled it, but who knew what had been in it, or what could find its way in any day now. The little brook had made the yard seem so cheery when she had bought the house, only a few months ago. It seemed much longer than that. It had been summer then, and the stream had barely been more than a trickle, fast-flowing over smooth stones. Sansa had pictured putting in a small stone bench where she could sit to read, or do her assignments. Maybe a flower garden behind the house. Something picturesque. But whatever she had envisioned before, it was very useful now. It saved her from going out more than was absolutely necessary. She saw one of  _ them _ in the distance, moving slowly through the trees as she climbed the front stairs with her last pan of water. Sansa paused to look before she shut the door behind her.

 

The man was still asleep as she hauled the water over to the counter. She was scrubbing underwear in the tub, scrubbing as hard she could, when the man- Sandor - woke. He sat up on the sofa, and stretched, hands fisting towards the ceiling. Sansa heard his joints pop. He didn’t look towards her. She took the laundry into her bedroom to dry, instead of draping it over the shower rod. Her laundry didn't need an audience, thank you. She closed the door firmly behind her when she entered the kitchen.

 

Sandor was crouched by the sofa, rummaging in his pack, pulling out tins. Even hunched over as he was, he looked too big for the room. Sansa wondered if she would be easier around him if he were a smaller man, if his scars weren't so grotesque. She didn't think so, somehow.

 

They didn’t speak until Sansa had her dinner prepared- the last packet of mashed potato flakes, with a half a can of creamed corn. The first spoonful had her heartily missing butter. She looked across the room at Sandor.

 

“When will you be moving on?”

 

He sat across from her with a grunt. “Eager are you? Tomorrow maybe. Whenever this damned rain stops.” He looked at the tin in his hand, glanced at Sansa’s plate, and held it out to her inquiringly. She stared blankly at him, before realizing what he was asking. She quickly divided her own dinner in two. Sandor’s canned pears were much more satisfying than her own offerings, in Sansa’s opinion. It’d been at least a month since she’d had fruit, and the syrup was heavy and sweet on her tongue.

 

It was dark by then. Sansa perfunctory washed her dishes, and rubbed them dry with a clean rag. Sandor was still at the table, swiping the last of the syrup from the can with a finger. Duly retreating to her bedroom, Sansa remembered the knife this time. She had tried to be subtle, hadn't thought he had been looking at her. But he’d laughed as she heaved the dresser into place.

 

It was almost insulting how quick he had been to dismiss her as any sort of danger to him, even that first night. She knew what she looked like- she’d always seemed to radiate an air of softness, helplessness somehow. She’d hoped that had changed since she had moved here, when she had finally left Joffrey. But whether it had or not, she sincerely doubted Sandor was the kind of man who was afraid of much. Still, she wished she could muster up the sort of ferocity that had always come so easily to Arya.

 

Sansa slipped the knife under her pillow. Her chosen blade was big and sharp, with a wooden handle. She wondered if she could really use it on him, if it came to it. It was too early to really go to bed, but she could sit up and think. She missed reading, but there were better uses for the candles these days. Had she been alone, under own routine, she would be in the living room right now. She would be sitting on the couch reciting stories or old poems, thinking aloud, or carrying on conversation with any number of people. Arya, Bran, Rob, her parents- even Jayne, whom she had not seen since high school, made appearances. Whomever she felt like ‘visiting’. It made the house seem a little less quiet, a bit less lonely. Cercei made the occasional appearance as well, but she always came uninvited.

 

Sometimes she even spoke to Miranda, though she had barely known the girl a week. Sansa would always apologize, although she didn't know why. They had been running. Miranda had been slow. Sansa had looked back, and seen. There was nothing she could have done.

 

She glanced at the door- Sandor was unnerving her, although she could not quite put her finger on why. He had not touched her, threatened her, nor done anything else. He’d said he wouldn’t hurt her, and he hadn’t. He’d barely looked at her. That didn’t mean he wouldn't though- and his silence was becoming more disquieting than any speech she could picture him making.

 

\------

 

The next day passed in the same near-silence as the one before. The rain had not stopped, and Sandor did not leave. Sansa spent the day reading her English textbook, for lack of something better to do. Sandor had not left the couch today. With the exception of eating several small meals, pulled from his pack, he had spent the day either sleeping or wordlessly resting.

 

She was supposed to have taken her English class with Miranda. The girl had been Sansa’s first and only friend here, and she had been delighted to learn they would have at least one class together. Sansa had come to take her away from the insanity on campus, to take her to Sansa’s house. They had been running across the parking lot, and the other girl had fallen behind. When Sansa had looked, those things had come out from behind a car, separating them. Miranda had turned away, screaming as they reached for her. She had still been screaming when Sansa had run towards home. She hadn’t looked back again.

 

Before the she lost the light, Sansa tossed away the text, and went back into the kitchen. Sandor was reclining on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He looked over as Sansa lit the stove. “Gas,” She explained. The word sounded very loud in the silent room. When the water became pleasantly warm, Sansa turned off the burner, then hesitated. She usually bathed in the kitchen, where the skylight gave her some natural light. With a glance towards Sandor’s shape on the couch, she heaved the pot towards the bathroom. It was really too heavy for her, full like this. She staggered towards her goal, leaving a slight trail of water in her wake.

 

After hurriedly bathing, glancing at the locked door all the while, Sansa brushed her hair out. It had grown very long; she might have to cut it soon. She had never done that herself before. But brushing it and putting it up did fill the hours nicely. Or what passed for nice these days. Her hands felt cold and pinched as she combed them through her damp hair.

 

Sandor was watching her as she exited the bathroom. She found herself wondering if he liked red hair. Some men did, very much. Of course, he might not care about hair at all. Or women, for all she knew. Not that it mattered.

 

“I know you.”

 

She started, looking around at him “What?”

 

“You were with Baratheon. The kid, not the old man.”

 

Sansa’s lips tightened. “And you know this how?”

 

“I used to work for the family. Saw you a few times I think- from a distance. Was his personal bodyguard for a while. ‘Till his cunt of a mother said he was going to be a ‘public figure’ one day, and his bloody ‘people’ needed to look the part.” He spat on the floor. Sansa winced. “They moved me then. Walking the grounds, that sort of shit.”

 

It must have been her hair, down for once- it had always been her ‘marker’ in school. The tall, red-haired girl. These days she tended to braid it up, or tuck it under a hat. It was more vivid then she was comfortable with when she went outside. Sansa leaned against the kitchen counter. “And what, you were close?”

 

Sandor shrugs. “I was just good for what they wanted me for. Kept him out of trouble when he was a kid. He listened to me some. Didn't do that for many people. And if he tried to go too far, the parents could trust me to deal with it.”

 

It was the longest speech he's made thus far. “How nice.” Sansa’s voice came out sounding flat.

 

“You must’ve liked him more than I did.”

 

Sansa went into her bedroom without replying. She let the dresser thump loudly against the wall when she moved it into place.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa was awake early the next morning, judging by the light edging under the blanket-covered window. Sandor wasn’t on the couch when she emerged, but the bathroom door was closed, and she could hear sloshing sounds from within. His bag was still sitting by the couch. Sansa tiptoed over, and slipped the top open. There were no weapons that she could see- not that she had really expected any. Sandor seemed the sort to keep them within reach, whatever his activity. There were several boxes of ammo, which made Sansa freeze- they rattled slightly as she handled them. Nothing more interesting- just a few more cans of fruit and a bag of stale-looking crackers. Sansa stepped back towards the table, and allowed herself a hot mug of tea for breakfast. She sipped it, wondering how much gas she had left. Hopefully enough to last the winter.

 

When Sandor emerged, he was carrying a pile of damp looking clothing. He’d scrubbed most of the grime from his face and arms, and his hair hung wet and clean in his face. She realized that was the first time she’d seen him without his coat on- his arms looked bulkier than she had thought, bigger than most men’s legs. She wished, in an idle sort of way, that she were as strong as he must be. A man like that could make his way through this new world much more easily than she.

 

But he hadn't been doing well for himself, had he. The cut on his arm had scabbed over, and looked to be healing well. Sandor himself looked much healthier than he had upon entering her house, and she wondered again just how desperate he had been, how long he had stayed awake and on the move. Sansa offered him the kettle, with some water remaining inside. He wouldn’t accept a tea-bag, and instead drank the water straight, and steaming.

 

Sandor didn’t say anything as he sipped the water, cupping the mug in his big hands. When his clothes seemed dry enough, he pulled most of them on in layers. He crouched to roll the remainder away, along with his scant blanket. He glanced up at Sansa when he opened the pack, but didn’t say anything. She felt her face redden. Shrugging into his coat, Sandor turned to her.

 

“You thought I was one of them? Before?” He gestured towards the scarred portion of his face.

 

She nodded. Sandor jerked his head at that, and pulled a dark bandanna out of a back pocket. He tied it around his lower face, hiding the worst of the scars. Sansa thought he looked rather like a bad guy robbing a bank, like in those old movies Bran had always liked. Sandor glanced at her, and rummaged in his pack. He yanked out a can of those pears, and pushed it towards her, over the tabletop. She supposed that was as close to a thank you as she’d get. He pulled a woolen cap over his ears, shouldered his pack, and slipped out the door. Sansa watched him exit the gate. He walked out of sight, down the path.

 

Sansa had thought she would feel relieved, but she didn’t. The house suddenly seemed very empty. She swallowed the remainder of the tea, and busied herself tidying the couch and sitting room. She could still smell him on it- it wasn’t exactly a pleasant odor. She wondered how long it had been since he had had a chance to clean up a little, to wash his clothes. Sansa suddenly wished, in the silent house, that she had tried to talk with him. He hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t so much as looked at her funny. Hadn't even touched her, come to that. Not even when he’d handed her the can the other night. So what if he’d known Joffrey. So had she.

 

She had seen other men pass through before, sometimes in small groups. She’d always hidden from all of them, grateful to trees she hadn’t yet pruned, hiding her front path from view. She hadn't seen any women pass through. She’d heard how it was on the campus- before the cell service went gone down, Miranda had called gabbling about rapes and murders, people acting like animals. Sansa had tried to bring her home the very next day. Neither girl had owned a car. Sansa wondered if that would have saved her.

 

She was suddenly glad Sandor had come. Glad he was able to sleep, eat, and bathe in relative safety for a few days. Surely that had helped him more than her worry and uncertainty had harmed her.

 

She still prayed sometimes. She had stopped for a long time, but had begun again in the months before it had happened- before she had been free of Joffrey. She had prayed for herself then. Now, she prayed for her family. For Jayne, and for other childhood friends half forgotten. Sansa would pray for Sandor tonight. She did not think she would easily forget him, the one living being she had really encountered all this time. His hand had hurt on her arm when he had found her, but it had been warm and alive.

 

Sansa took stock of the kitchen, of the pantry. There wasn't really much left- certainly not enough for an long wait if need be. Sometimes, some of them lingered around the fence for a while, necessitating a period of waiting before emerging once more. She would have to go into town soon. But not today, with the memory of Sandor so fresh. She would go tomorrow, when what passed for normality had returned to the little house.

 

Sansa was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to read that damn textbook again, when the quick rap on her window made her jump. There was really only one person it could be, but she checked just the same. Sandor was crouched by the stairs, hunched against the side of the house. His eyes were wide over the bandanna. Sansa hurriedly unbolted the door, and he scrabbled quickly in. She opened her mouth as she secured the door once more, but he put a finger up to his lips, pointing to the window.

 

Sansa tiptoed over, peeking under the covering once more, and she saw. There were more of them then she’d ever seen before. At least fifty within sight of the house, all walking together, in the same direction. Sandor pulled the bandanna aside, and put his mouth to her ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.

 

“There’s hundreds of the fuckers. All down the road, all in the woods. I just got here ahead of them.”

 

Sansa hissed “Have you ever seen this many together?”

 

He shook his head, “In a few cities. Never a little town like this.”

 

“From the college maybe?” But she knew that was wrong before he shook his head. They’re a motley collection; children, teens, and adults- not enough of them seemed the right age. Some were wearing suits, some in casual clothing. She even saw one stumble pass the gate in what must have once been an expensive evening gown. That one looked fairly fresh- red flaps of flesh hung from her wrists. The lipstick around her gaping mouth was smeared and dirty.

 

Sandor straightened, and settled into Sansa’s abandoned chair. His eyes didn’t leave the window. The wicked looking knife was in his hand, and the gun was laid on the table. Sansa could go to the other chair, but she found herself unwilling to move so far from him. Sandor’s bulk, as frightening as it had been to her over the past few days, was oddly reassuring now. She knew no one man could take on so many, but she found his nearness comforting nonetheless.

 

Sansa glanced towards the knife drawer, but was hesitant to risk making any sort of noise. Sandor followed her gaze, and seemed to understand. He reached into his left boot, and pulled out a small, sharp hunting knife in a sheath. He pressed it into Sansa’s palm, and she felt marginally better.

 

The next several hours slipped by in absolute silence. Sansa’s knees began to ache on the hard tile floor. “Why do you think they’re moving so slowly?”

 

Not that they were especially speedy to begin with, thankfully. She’d been chased several times, and though they were relentless, she had been faster. But she’d never seen any move as slowly as these. Most had all limbs intact, yet they seemed to be moving in slow motion.

 

“I don’t know.” Sandor glanced over at her. “Maybe the cold.”

 

When the light began to fade, Sansa struggled to her feet, legs numb. Sandor steadied her with a hand to the elbow. She slipped into the other chair.

 

In the end, it took over eight hours for them to pass- or so Sansa assumed. Once it became fully night, she couldn't make out anything between the trees. Sandor seemed to see somewhat better than she. Sansa watched his eyes tracking through the darkness, but couldn’t seem to find what he could see.

 

By some unspoken agreement, they took it in turns to use the bucket, and shared a cold can of soup for dinner. The sounds of their swallowing seem very loud in the darkness.

 

“You might as well get some sleep.” Sandor whispered, when they’ve finished.

 

“What about you?”

 

“In the morning.” He turned his attention back to the darkness outside.

 

Sansa got to her feet, and walked to her bedroom. It seemed unbearably far. In the end, she pulled her quilts and blankets to the couch. He looked at her then, for a long moment. She pretended not to notice. Sleep did not come quickly.

 

\------

 

She woke with the first pale streamers of light hitting her face. Sandor did not seem to have moved at all. It was even colder this morning, her breath coming out in small puffs of steam. She made her way over to him, and offered one of her quilts. He took it without comment, wrapping it around his shoulders. His knife was back on his hip, but the gun still sat on the table. Sansa had clutched her small weapon all night, and it was still in her hand now. A glance out the window showed no movement.

 

Sansa sat at the table. “Winter is coming.”

 

He grunted slightly. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

 

“So have I.” And she had been. She just hadn't put it into words yet. “You could stay here.”

 

He looked at her. It was a long, evaluating look, that wasn’t altogether comfortable. “You don’t trust me.”

 

“I don’t know.” But she did, somehow.

 

He didn’t really have many choices for winter, and she knew it. So did he.

 

“Have you ever killed a Rotter before?” He was looking steadily at her now, hands on his knees, quilt draped loosely around him.

 

“One of those things you mean?”

 

He snorted. “What do you call them then?”

 

“I call them  _ them _ . Never really said it out loud before. I haven't had anyone to say it to. And no, I haven't. I’m not even sure how.”

 

Sandor quirked an eyebrow, and Sansa hurried to explain “I saw this man once. He was in the street outside the pharmacy,” She took a shuddering breath. “Three of those.. Rotters were following him. I think he came from the college. Anyway, he had a hatchet and he got all three of them. I thought they were dead, but two of them got back up again, with their guts spilling out, and they- well, they got him.”

 

She had turned away, but she had still heard his screams before she'd covered her ears. She had stayed in the pharmacy until the light had started to fade. They had still been in the street, but she’d ran.

 

“It has to be the brain,” Sandor said.

 

He sat still for a long few moments, staring at the table. Then he looked up, and nodded, as though the matter was settled. Sansa supposed that it was.

 

Sandor watched as she ransacked the sofa and armchair for cushions, making a makeshift bed on the sitting room floor. It was still a little small for a man of his size, but Sansa thought it should be more comfortable than the couch had been. She found a spare sheet to tuck around the cushions, and after a brief hesitation, pulled the remainder of the blankets off of her bed. They could divide them evenly later. Sandor didn’t thank her, but settled down with a little groan. His gun was on the floor beside him, within easy reach.

 

Sansa sat at the table, and kept watch out the window. The morning’s crisp, and she could hear birdsong through the window. The frost on the long grass was surprisingly beautiful. She could hear Sandor’s even breathing behind her. Staring out the window, Sansa counted his breaths, and thought of nothing. She couldn’t help but to feel unaccountably glad that he was there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I CAN'T STOP.
> 
> I have work in 5 hours. Help.

Although neither of them saw another Rotter for some time, Sandor nor Sansa felt entirely safe walking out the door over the next few days. Sandor settled into the little house quickly and easily- he didn't have much in the way of personal possessions. The nights seemed much colder now, with half of Sansa’s blankets on Sandor’s bed of cushions. She took to imitating him, and sleeping with her warmest coat on.

 

When they had no other choice than to collect water or empty the bucket, they did so together. It was on one of these trips that they saw the Rotter. It must have been slumped behind a tree, because it seemed to come out of nowhere, smashing against the chest-high fence. Its mangled arms reached through the bars, filthy teeth snapping together hard.

 

Sansa scrambled back, the pan of water she had been holding clattering to the ground, a wave of icy cold soaking through her jeans. She looked to Sandor, who had wheeled around, knife at the ready. He glanced left and right, and she followed his gaze. There seem to be no more of them nearby, or at least none that Sansa could detect. It was not, thank God, standing anywhere near the brook. Sandor started forward, then turned towards Sansa, a considering look in his eye. To her shock, he sheathed his knife.

 

“What are you-”

 

“You’re going to do it.”

 

She looked at him, mouth agape. He looked decisively back at her. “You still have the knife?”

 

He had not asked for his boot-knife back, and she had not given it. She nodded.

 

“Here-” Sandor stepped adroitly around the thing’s reaching arms, and carefully gripped it’s head with one massive hand. His gloved fingertips were digging into its prominent eye sockets. With his other arm, he held back the flailing appendages. He looked expectantly at Sansa. “Make it quick now. Clean to the brain.”

 

Sansa stared at the thing. Its teeth were clicking, and strange hissing, gurgling noises come from its throat. Their nearness seemed to be driving it into a frenzy, but Sandor seemingly had no trouble restraining it. Sansa pulled the knife from her pocket, and unsheathed it. She’d never been so close to one of them. Certainly never purposely stepped within arm’s reach of one. As she approached, she could see that it was a short young man, maybe a little younger than she. He had been wearing khakis when he died, with a cheerful green polo shirt. Sansa wondered if he had been a freshman this year, excited about leaving home for the first time. The semester had not quite begun yet when all this had started.

 

She gripped the knife hard in her hand, and Sandor shifted his grip to the back of its head, leaving her way clear. She did it quickly, almost blindly. It crumpled, and Sandor dropped it.

 

“That was good. Good and clean.”

 

Sansa crouched beside the thing. She didn’t feel good and clean. A spray of blood had stained her sleeve, and the knifeblade was covered with gore. She crouched next to it, and tried to look at the face. She might have shared a class with him. There was a bite mark on the side of his neck, and one on his cheek. Old bloodstains streamed down the side of that bright polo.

 

“Don't think about it.”

 

Sansa looked up. Sandor was looking at her, with a curious expression on his face. “He was already dead. There’s nothing anybody could’ve done for him. And you putting his body down was a kindness to him. It’s what I’d want, if that ever happened to me.”

 

Sansa shuddered at the thought of a Sandor-sized Rotter. She watched as he crossed to the other side of the fence, and dragged the corpse into the woods. She stayed crouched where she was until he returned. She dipped her bare hands into the icy stream water, and flicked her knife blade through for good measure, wiping both on the frosty grass. They went back inside, where Sansa thoroughly washed her hands. They went together to retrieve the water.

 

Afterwards, Sandor was sitting at the table with her, showing Sansa how to sharpen the knife, when he suddenly stopped. He set down the cloth and stone, and looked her in the eye.

 

“I’ve killed people.”

 

Sansa stared at him. “I’ve killed living, breathing people, who needed to be put down more than that one there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the backyard.

 

“You should know. You’ve been out of the thick of it, but shit like this brings out the animal in people- I’ve seen it. And I’ve stopped it when I had to.”

 

“Tell me.” Sansa didn’t break her gaze from his.

 

“Before I came here, I was part of a group. You have to be, out there. Need someone to watch your back.” He pressed his hands flat against the table top. “It was a couple of guys who- I knew they were no good, but I didn’t know how bad until I saw what they wanted to do. There was this couple of girls- younger than you. Couldn’t have been more than fifteen, sixteen now I think on it.”

 

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, they were with this older woman. Mom, teacher, something like that. Tough old bitch, but not tough enough. They grabbed her from behind, hit her with something. And they wanted those girls. They had a couple of knives, but they were skinny little things, and scared to hell. They weren't stabbing anyone.”

 

“And you just watched all this?” Sansa was working hard to keep her voice level.

 

“I said I wasn't doing it. They said fine, more for them. Took me a moment to think about how badly I needed a group. Stabbed one in the back of the head. Shot the other before he could draw.”

 

Sansa was looking fixedly at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. “What happened to the girls?”

 

“Waited with them till the other one woke up. Spent the night, shared a little food. Went our separate ways in the morning.”

 

“Didn't they want you to stay with them?”

 

Sandor snorted. “They’d just watched me kill two of my own- they weren't about to ask me to join up.”

 

“But you weren't like them- you helped.”

 

He just shrugged. “That’s not why I’m telling you. You need to know- the most dangerous thing out there isn’t Rotters. It’s other people. And you need to be ready- one hesitation, and you could be dead, or worse. You’ve been very lucky if you’ve never even killed a Rotter until today- but that luck won’t last forever.”

 

He picked up the stone again, and bid her pick up the knife.

 

“I’ll make you something- a strap or something. Put that around your wrist. Never know when you might need surprise.”

 

You didn’t need surprise with Rotters. Sansa took a deep breath, and nodded.

 

\-----

 

Sandor announced the next morning that he’d be going into town. Sansa tentatively suggested she go with him, and doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved when he shook his head, saying she’d just slow him down.

 

They could certainly use it- even with Sandor’s meager supplies added to the pantry, their food stocks were alarmingly low. She watched him leave. It was strange, she thought, how she could now feel so secure with a man who had been frightening to her not a week ago. She wasn't exactly sure when he had earned her trust, but he had. She had stopped being exactly afraid of him the morning he’d left. Maybe, when she had realized he was leaving, she’d finally been able to relax enough to see him as a man, a person. He still didn’t speak much, and she knew nothing about his Before. But it was good, to have someone in the house with her. To not be alone.

 

Sandor returned impressively spattered with gore, but with not much in the way of foodstuffs to go with it. She was heating some water for him to wash with, and surveyed their new supplies: several cans of gravy, a sleeve of saltine crackers, and several tubes of toothpaste. Hardly a significant addition.

 

The next day Sandor went out again- this time to the restaurant across town, where Sansa had dared not go. There were only a few of  _ them _ inside that she had seen, but still far too many for her. Yet Sandor returned unscathed, and pushing a wobbly-wheeled shopping cart full of supplies. A few cans of oranges, and some sacks of oatmeal and flour made up the bulk of the find. She exclaimed over the amount, but Sandor shook his head.

 

“It’s not enough- not for the winter. And that’ll be here properly soon enough. This town’s almost picked dry- we’ll have to go further than this.”

 

Sansa nodded. She had known it would happen eventually- had perhaps already felt it happening a little bit.

 

The next morning saw them walking up to the college. Sandor had his bandanna around his face again, as he had taken to doing when going out. It was several miles to the college, and they passed the time in silence. The parking lot looked significantly more deserted then Sansa remembered it being. But then, it’d been months since she dared set foot here- not since the beginning. They approached it quietly, and Sansa listened intently for any sounds. There were many of them inside, she knew- crowds of them. She could see their shapes, their silhouettes against the pane glass windows. But they were inside, and none approached them here.

 

Sandor wended his way between the cars, and finally stopped by a old, dusty blue mini van. Sansa stood watch as he looked under the hood, eyes nervously sweeping from one end of the lot to the other. Sandor proclaimed himself satisfied, and they spend the next hour or so siphoning fuel from the surrounding vehicles. They only saw one Rotter, which Sandor quickly disposed of.

 

When they started the vehicle, Sandor fiddling with some wires, several more came out from behind the surrounding buildings. They left quickly, before it became a problem, and he insisted on taking a longer, winding route back towards the house. In the end, they left the van about half a mile from the house, tucked on the side of the road.

 

Sansa began to talk on the walk back. She told him about Arya’s idea of a snowball fight, always aiming for the face. She described the day Rickon was born. She told the story of the surprise birthday party they’d had for her when she was thirteen, the one that made her cry. She spoke all through their meager dinner, her voice penetrating the cold, still air, She talked until the darkness was complete.

 

Sandor had made no replies all that time, has offered no stories of his own in return. Sansa didn’t even know if he was really listening, but he hadn’t asked her to stop. In the silence, she got up to retreat to her bedroom.

 

“Good night little bird.”

 

He lay on his makeshift bed now, arms crossed beneath his head. Sansa paused to look at him.

 

“You called me that before- when we met, in the gas station. Why?”

 

The silence stretched on for so long that she didn't think he was going to answer. Then his rough voice emerged from the darkness.

 

“Because you look like one- like one of those expensive birds rich people keep in cages. Because you twitter like one.”

 

Her cheeks reddened, and she was glad of the darkness. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be girl. Little songbirds are pretty to listen to.”

 

He fell silent, and she waited for him to say something more. When he didn’t, she simply said “Good night Sandor.” He made no reply to that either. Sansa pulled the door closed behind her. The dresser stayed in its place beside her bed, as it had for days now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left a comment. I love reading all the feedback. 
> 
> Special thanks to LadyCleganeofTheNorth and another anonymous user who pointed out several flaws in my structural writing- I have been and will continue to take steps to correct these structural flaws in previous chapters.

The morning had both Sandor and Sansa hunched over the same small, steaming bowl of oatmeal. They ate quickly, trying preserve the warmth. Their spoons scraped the bottom all too soon. Sandor eyed her for a moment. When she made to no move to take the last few bites for herself, he finished quickly. Heaving himself to his feet, he moved the empty bowl to the counter. Sansa watched as he swiped a finger around the dish, sucking it clean. They’ll have to take their newly acquired van soon, and find more rations. With winter almost upon them, both Sandor and Sansa had been eating less and less. Sansa could feel the lack of energy in her limbs, and her favorite jeans hung loosely over her thighs. Sandor must be needing food more badly than she, but he made no complaints.

 

Sansa found herself telling him about Arya as he was wiping the bowl clean. She tried hard to paint a picture in her mind’s eye, and show it to Sandor with her words. Arya’s face, once so familiar, seemed shrouded now. It’d been too long since she’d seen her. Arya would be nineteen. If she was still alive.

 

“She always had so much- I don’t know. Spirit, I guess.” Sansa smiled. That was decidedly  _ not _ how she would have described her little sister when they had been younger. She’d been bothersome then- an annoying twerp, always ruining everything. She had been the first to tell her, to see what Joffrey was. She hadn't listened, of course.

 

“She’d be in college now. Or she would’ve been. For- I don't know. Dance, or something.”

 

“Dance? What use is that?” Sandor closed the cabinet, tasks complete.

 

“She would've liked it.” Sansa cleared her throat. “What about your family anyway. What are they like?”

 

Sandor’s face was closed, inscrutable. “Dead.”

 

“Oh. I- I’m sorry.”

 

He shrugged, eyes on the floor. “I thought we’d go out today. See what we can find.”

 

“South?”

 

“No. I came from that way. Stores I saw are even smaller than the ones here.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought we’d go north. Maybe east. I don’t have a map, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”

 

“Oh-” Sansa sat up straight. “There’s a bigger town somewhere near here. It was only two stops on the bus. Birmington I think? ”

 

“Was it north?”

 

Sansa bit her lip. “I think so. There was a Tesco’s, and a big mall. It was too far away to walk, I remember that.”

 

“We’ll try north then, and work our way east. Find some signs to follow.”

 

Sansa was already wearing her warmest clothes, and her thickest boots. The tooled leather was cracking, but they kept out the cold and the wet. Sandor tied on his bandanna, and they headed out together. He insisted on bringing some food with them. He made a little bundle with their thinnest blanket, stashing some cans and packets inside. This went in the van, stuffed under the passenger seat. When they each had a small pouch of oats and jerky in a pocket, Sandor seemed satisfied.

 

“You have your knife?” She nodded, touching the handle in her jacket pocket.

 

The van sputtered, but started on the second try. It took nearly an hour to reach the store. They found the town easily enough, but the front lot had at least five Rotters shambling about. The sound of the engine seemed to attract them, and they followed when Sandor turned them around.

 

Sansa watched them shrink into the distance through the rear windshield. They circled ‘round, and parked on a corner within view of the glass doors. Only one of them was still in the lot when they arrived. Sansa hung back, watching as Sandor pushed it against the wall, and shoved his knife through its eye.

 

He entered first, knife still drawn and held at the ready. Sansa followed, as quietly as she was able. She began to ease the door closed behind them, but Sandor raised a fist in the air. Sansa froze in place, watching as he sharply rapped his knuckles against the glass of the doors. Both waited with baited breath. When nothing emerged, he'd done it again, harder this time. It felt like a very long time that they waited, poised to turn for the open door. Sandor watched the isles, and Sansa watched Sandor. Finally he nodded, and she softly swung the door shut behind them.

 

A cart lay abandoned by the registers, and Sansa wrapped her hands around the icy handle, turning it towards the empty isles. Neither spoke as they walked past empty shelves. Sansa, pushing the cart, examined the shelves as they passed. Sandor kept close to her side, slowing his longer strides to match hers. They passed empty shelves, and shelves full of spoiled produce. Many of the jars were broken, some fallen and smashed, while others were frozen and cracked by their own contents. They were able to salvage several smaller jars, intact among the sea of broken glass. Most of the shelves were stripped bare, but they found some small items among the broken or spoiled products.

 

Sandor huffed out a breath as they tossed packs of gum and mints into the cart’s basket. “We won't last long on that.”

 

Sansa didn’t reply. Groping in the back of an open drinks cooler, she pulled out a few undamaged cans and bottles. With the cart decidedly emptier than they’d hoped, they turned down the pharmacy isle. Sansa hung back by the shelves as Sandor climbed over the counter, knife drawn. He looked downwards, and lowered his raised weapon slightly, passing out of Sansa’s view. She peered over, and saw a corpse crumpled behind the counter, still in the long white coat and nametag.

 

My Name is Maryanne. How May I Help You?

 

The top of her head was split open.

 

The isles seemed more dangerous now that she was alone. She glanced from end to end, listening to Sandor shift and rustle about out of sight. She shook her head firmly, and gripped the knife in her pocket, turning back to the shelves at hand. Cough drops and antacids went in the cart. Vitamins, shaving cream, and a pack of safety razors as well. Sansa wondered if Sandor would shave, now that he had the option. A movement in her peripherals had her turning with a start. He’d climbed back over the counter, bottles poking out of his pockets and tucked under his arms. He was uncannily quiet, given his bulk. He dropped the bottles into the cart. She picked one up to read the label, and saw that he'd found some antibiotics.

 

They made their way up the remainder of the isle. Sending Sandor a sidelong look, Sansa pulled several boxes of tampons into the cart. She didn’t look at him, refusing to redden. He didn't seem to notice, or care if he does. The shelves here are fairly full, and they found a few toothbrushes, deodorant, Aspirin, and bathing supplies easily enough. Sandor had passed her a bottle of 2-in-1, which Sansa had firmly put back on the shelf. She replaced it with several higher quality products. Sandor had shaken his head, and Sansa wondered if she was being ridiculous.

 

They walked together down the path intersecting the isles at the far end of the store. The decimated packages of meat in their broken freezers made Sansa feel faintly ill. A swinging set of double doors led to the back end of the store, and Sandor took the lead once more. They made their way through the large main room. Most of the shelves were empty, and cardboard scraps littered the floor. In the far corner, they found several pallets lying undisturbed. The bread had long since molded, but they took a few loves anyway. A small pallet of canned beans was heaved into the cart in its entirely, along with a larger pallet of condensed milk.

 

A closed door blocked the only area left unseen. Sansa followed Sandor towards the door, pushing the cart with some difficulty now. She shoved it to the side, and stood behind him as he tried the knob. It rattled slightly, but did not open. Sandor glanced over his shoulder at Sansa. He flicked his eyes from her, to the door, and back to her again. She swallowed hard, and nodded. She groped in her pocket for the knife, holding it tightly in her fist.

 

Sandor took a sweeping look at the large room behind him, before turning back to the closed door. He stepped back slightly, and slammed the heel of his heavy boot into the door, just by the handle. It sprang open with a crash, and Sandor strode inside. Sansa hurried after him, knife held at the ready. She skidded to a stop in the doorway, eyes widening as she took in the scene inside.

 

The room looked to have been the staff break room once, complete with a sink and small fridge. A pile of blankets was neatly folded by the wall. Sitting at the round table was the body of a man, shotgun propped between his feet. His head was rolled back on his neck, the top a bloody, pulpy ruin. His eyes stared blankly up at the whitewashed ceiling. Sandor was crouched by his side. He tugged down his face-covering, and sniffed the air, looking the body up and down.

 

“Maybe dead a few days. Can’t have been more than a week.”

 

He calmly replaced the cloth, pulling it up over his nose.

 

Sansa swallowed hard. The corpse’s hair, what wasn’t soaked in blood, was a fine ash color, flecked with grey. “He was so close.”

 

Sandor nodded. “Aye.” He pulled the shotgun out of the body’s slack grip, and examined it. Nodding, he rose to his feet. He looked over at Sansa, still frozen in the doorway, and jerked his head towards the far wall. She looked at him for a moment before entering, skirting the corpse as best as she could.

 

The cabinets held a tidy array of food; preserves, jerky, canned goods, and even chocolate. They loaded most of it into the cart, the wheels groaning and creaking with every movement now. They found a duffle bag folded atop the blankets, and stuffed the rest of the goods in. Sansa shouldered the heavy bag, eyes on the ground. Throughout their scavenging, her eyes had been drawn to the corpse’s. They looked flat, colorless. Sandor reached for the pile of blankets.

 

“Don’t.”

 

He looked up at her quiet plea, and withdrew his hand. They left the store the same way they’d come in. They stopped only once- Sandor suddenly broke off course, and Sansa struggled to stop the heavy cart. He came back into her view quickly, carrying two clinking bottles, full of amber-colored liquid. He wedged them into the cart without a word.

As they emerged into the crisp sunshine, two Rotters looked up, swaying in front of them. They had barely begun to advance when Sandor strode forward to meet them. The first, a used-to-be woman in a long skirt, was smashed in the side of the head with the heavy barrel of the shotgun. Its jaw knocked askew, it stumbled, hissing, until the second blow smashed through the remnants of its forehead. The second was limping forward, arms reaching, and was dispatched with one brutal blow. The cloth had slipped to below Sandor’s chin, and Sansa could see his teeth bared, lips curled back. His knife was still sheathed at his side.

 

Sandor wrapped a hand around the front of the cart, pulling it along at such a speed that it had Sansa jogging to keep up. They met no more Rotters as they approached the van. With the trunk open and the back seats lying flat, Sandor was able to lift the cart, and shoved it entirely into the back of the van. Sansa heaved the duffle in after it, and they pulled out. Although the sun was still high in the sky, Sandor didn’t turn towards the mall or the gas station. Sansa told no stories on the way back to the house. Sandor still hadn't replaced his bandanna, mouth set in a grim line.

 

When they arrived back at the house, Sandor heaved the cart down once more. He shouldered the duffle, and led the way to the path. Struggling with the weight of the cart, Sansa eyed the back of his head as they made their way towards the gate. He held it open for her. They left the cart in the yard, and together they carried all their supplies inside.

 

Once in the house, Sandor sat on his bedding with his back to the wall, booted feet resting on her spare sheets. He was watching as Sansa began to find places for everything. She was stacking the toiletries in the bathroom cupboard when she heard the cork come out of the bottle. Sansa glanced up as she moved towards the kitchen. The bottle was large, like the sort she used to see behind the bars at the places Joffrey would sometimes take her. His throat worked as he drank .

 

When everything else was put away, she took the gallon of laundry detergent to the bathroom as well, setting it on the counter. She’d have to have a laundry day soon.

 

“Girl.”

 

He’d looked up at her now.

 

“Sit down. Have a drink.”

 

“I don’t think-”

 

“Sit. ”

 

So she did sit, lightly, on the arm of the large plush chair, the cushions having been long since put to use.

 

“Not there.”

 

He had wrapped his hand around her booted ankle, and tugged sharply. Sansa found herself sprawled opposite him on the cushions. She sat up quickly, and pulled her ankle from his grasp. He pushed the bottle into her hands.

 

“Have a drink.”

 

“No thank you.” She held the bottle out to him, and he took it willingly enough. She attempted to stand, but he grabbed her ankle again.

 

“None of that. Your going to sit here and bloody watch me drink if you won’t have any. And you’re going to listen.”

 

“You want to talk?”

 

“What else do you do when you drink? No women here.” His eyes flicked across her. “None of that sort, anyway.”

 

He sounded a little like Joffrey then. They’d been at the club with some friends of his. She’d known better than to think of them as  _ her _ friends by then. One had groaned that all the “hot bitches” in the room were taken. Joff had grabbed her hip, and pulled her close with a crude grin and comment. Jokes had been made, and she had been expected to smile and play her part. She’d gone to bed with him that night, although he’d been to drunk too do anything about it. Apparently that had been her fault. She’d stayed home from class for three days, until the mark on her cheekbone had faded enough for makeup to cover it properly. The others had taken longer, but they didn’t show.

 

He took another long swallow, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Works better than it used to. Quicker.” He gave the bottle a little shake, and Sansa saw that about a third of it was gone.

 

“Drunk as a dog. They used to call me that, you know. Dog.”

 

“Who?” Sansa shifted uncomfortably, and tried to ease her ankle out of his grasp. His grip was very tight.

 

“Joffrey. And his cunt mother. Hound, when they wanted to show me off. Dog, mostly.”

 

“Why?”

 

He shrugged. “Because they could. Now, are you going to ask or not. What you’ve been wondering since you saw me.” He jerked his thumb at his cheek, at the scars shining white and red in the failing light. “You've been wondering how I got these.”

 

Of course she had been. Anyone would be. That didn’t mean she would ever be rude enough to ask outright.

 

She said nothing, and he laughed. It was an unpleasant sound, rough and devoid of humor.

 

“You thought I was a Rotter in the beginning. I damn near look it.” He took another long swig. “How d’you think it happened? Tragic house fire, left me an orphan? Took my family away? No, it’s a better fucking story than that.”

 

He looked her dead on, eyes shining out of both sides of his face, scarred and whole.

 

“Had a mother. Father and brother too.” He looked at the bottle in his hand. “And a sister.”

 

A long stretch of silence followed this pronouncement. “What happened to them?” Sansa asked, when she couldn’t stand the quiet anymore.

 

He looked up, as though he’d forgotten about her.

 

“Mother left when I was young. Don't really remember her.” He looked down at the bottle again, tipping it from side to side, watching the liquid swish. He took another swig. “My sister- she was a little younger than me, I think. I saw- it doesn't matter what I saw.”

 

His lips twisted, the burned side curling to show teeth. “They said it was an accident.”

 

Her foot was going numb in his grasp, but she didn’t move it.

 

“Gregor now- he was what, eight years older than me. Some ten years older than her.”

 

He suddenly fixed her with a angry gaze. “You want to know how I got these?”

 

He released her leg, and leaned forward, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck. He dragged her forward, almost into his lap. She could see every crease in his face, every angle of his scars. His breath wafted across her skin.

 

“I was six, playing with a toy. It was Gregor’s, but he never used it. Knew I shouldn't-”

 

He broke off then. Sansa smelled the whiskey, strong on his breath, and sweat and gore stiff in his clothes. He hadn't changed or bathed since they’d come back.

 

“He didn't care about toys. But it was Gregor’s toy. So he took me, like this-” He shook her, hard. Her hands flew up, one to grip his wrist; the other pressed hard against his chest. He didn't seem to notice.

 

“He pushed my face into the fire, against the side of the woodstove. Held me there. I don’t know how long.” He pushed her away then, and she sprawled on the floor. “They told the doctors I’d been playing with matches, set my own fucking bed on fire. Another accident.” He took another long draught.

 

Sansa scrambled away, until the back of her thighs hit the kitchen table. He wasn’t looking at her now. Edging around the far side of the room, she backed into her bedroom. He still wasn't looking at her when she closed the door.

 

The dresser had been in its rightful place for some time. But it slid in front of the door easily enough. The bottom drawer was Sandor’s now- he’d laughed at her when she’d insisted, taking all his spares out of his bag and carefully folding them, few though they were.

 

Retreating to her bed, Sansa hesitated before tossing aside her usual nightwear. Kicking off her boots, she climbed in fully clothed. Her neck was aching, bone-deep.

 

Sitting up in bed, Sansa drew the covers in around her. Outside the door, Sandor was muttering to himself. She couldn’t quite make out his words. Creaking, footsteps, and then a loud crash as something heavy, Sandor himself by Sansa’s guess, hit the floor. A long, loud stream of curses drifted to her ears. Scraping noises, and then another loud thump.

 

With a good amount of stumbling, he seemed to have finally regained his feet. Heavy footsteps led to the bathroom, and several long moments later, back across the room. There was a long, pregnant pause, and Sansa strained her ears for signs of movement. There was a rattle and a thump, as the knob to her room turned and the door hit the dresser.

 

Heart pounding, Sansa swung her legs out of bed and waited. A long time seemed to go by. Then, the sound of heavy footsteps moving further back into the room. A muffled thump as he dropped to his cushion-bed.

 

Sansa listened for what seemed like hours, but no movement reached her ears. It was the cold, not the need for sleep, that drove her back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Sansa and Sandor kind of insisted on deviating from the plot I had in my head- please let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Have gone back, and edited all previous published chapters. No plot changes, just some fixing some grammatical and structural issues. Hopefully it's easier and more enjoyable to read now!

The next morning dawned clear and bright. Sansa watched the sunrise, peering out from beneath the window cover. She’d been sitting up with her back propped against the pillows. She’d slept little, and what sleep she did manage had been fitful. She’d kept snapping awake, eyes fixing on that door. But he hadn't moved again. All had been quiet. Sansa slipped from beneath the covers and pressed her feet into her boots. Thinking better of it, she sat back on the bed to pull them off again. She mustn't wake Sandor. She wanted to steal a march on him this morning, be first up. She pulled on her thickest woolen socks, and found that she didn’t need her jacket this morning. She shucked it off and hung it neatly in the closet. There was a soft blue sweater in there, knitted and warm. She hadn't worn it since _Before_. She pulled it over her head, over her double-layer of undershirts.

 

Shifting the dresser wasn’t exactly quiet, but it didn't seem to matter. Sandor was dead to the world, sprawled out on his side. The rasping breaths emerging from his open mouth were not _snores_ exactly, but not far from it. The blankets were twisted around his legs, and his fist clenched around a knot of the quilt. Sansa tiptoed past him, staying to the far side of the room. Once in the bathroom, she glanced towards him before leaving the door ajar. She kept her eyes on his motionless form as she attended to her morning business. Refreshed, Sansa unbraided her hair. She was combing it out in the mirror when she saw the marks around her throat.

 

Lifting her hair to the side, she tilted her chin to see. The marks extended from the back of her throat to the underside of her jaw. One trailing bruise reached her lower lip. Sansa glanced towards Sandor- he had very big hands. Perhaps twice, three times the size of her own. She made a fist herself, and stared down at it in the morning light. It looked pale and frail, not very impressive. Her combed hair had settled over her throat, hiding the worst of the marks from view. She quickly combed it back, gathering the thick mass up in a high bun. She looked in the mirror, adjusting the sweater’s floppy collar so that the marks were clearly visible. Tiptoeing past Sandor's inert form once more, Sansa sat herself down at the table to wait. She tried chewing on a strip of jerky, but found that swallowing was painful this morning. She put the strip into her pocket, and settled for a hot cup of tea instead. She let the stove run longer than usual, until the water was boiling. All she could do was wait.

 

Sansa studied the sleeping man before her, watching the bar of light on his chest from the skylight above slowly shift upwards. He looked different today. Maybe just because she’d never seen him really sleep before. His first few days had been more like a collapse. Until this morning, sleeping or awake, he had always seemed coiled inwards, stolid and compact. Today, he was sprawled loose-limbed on his back, head lolling to the side. A good thing too; the shoulder of his jacket was stained with vomit. More was crusted around his mouth and in his beard. He looked, Sansa thought, like one of those cautionary pictures they showed of drunks on the street. His stained clothes added to the effect, as did his hair and beard. The whisky bottle was nearly empty, and had rolled partially under the couch.

 

Sansa ran a finger over the marks on her throat, feather light. She’d thought when she had come here that these sort of bruises would be over and done with. No more, she’d said. These were deep. She could feel it in the burn of them as she sipped at her tea. Joffrey had not been a big man. But he had held her just as securely. A different kind of power- influence, money, and what she had thought was love. Sansa tried to smile, to laugh at the silly little girl she had been, but it came out as a grimace.  At least she had run from Sandor, had barricaded herself in her room. But she couldn’t leave as she had left the Baratheon household. The fence was her refuge- the only one she had seen within walking distance of here. The little house had become her home, in a way that her large apartment in Joffrey’s grand residence never had been. She had been here a fraction of the time, but it was her comfort, her safety. That was why she had bought it after all. Both its secluded nature and the strong looking fence had lent a sense of security. It had been justified in the end, although not as she had feared at the time.

 

Her tea had turned cold, and she lit a candle to warm it. There was no more honey, that had been gone weeks ago. Sansa turned her head to look at Sandor once more. He hadn't moved an inch, mouth still lolling open, blankets still twisted around sprawling limbs. She wondered if he would leave if she asked him to. When the light finally struck his face, it took a full five minutes for Sandor to stir. He let out a muffled groan, turning his face to the side and flinging an arm over his eyes. He lay like that for some time. Sansa took a long, soothing sip of tea.

 

When he rolled to his feet, he made a beeline for the doorway, eyes not meeting hers. After a brief glance out the window, he stumbled out onto the lawn. Sansa could hear the splashing of water through the closed door.

 

Long minutes passed before he re entered, face and hands dripping. Sansa had moved sideways slightly, so that the light fell across her face and torso. Sandor fell into the chair opposite her. Finally, he looked directly at her. He jaw set, and his eyes flicked down to her throat. They sat there for several long seconds, she with her head held high, and he looking at the offending marks. He got up then, and moved into the bathroom. She could hear him clattering around, shifting through the toiletries she’d carefully arranged last night. He returned with a tube of hand cream the width of her wrist, carelessly tossed in their cart the previous day. He met her eyes then as he sat again, face inscrutable, and held the little tube out to her.

 

Sansa made no move to take it. Instead, she lifted her chin still higher and shifted to the right, displaying the worst of the marks. Neither moved or changed position.

 

Finally, Sandor got to his feet. Circling the table, he lowered himself to the tile floor, behind Sansa’s chair. She didn't look around. The cool touch of the cream began at the nape of her neck, and Sansa flinched, although she had thought she was prepared. Sandor paused for brief moment before continuing his ministrations. He spread the cream down her neck to the top of her spine, and around the sides. His hands were rough, but she could feel that he was trying to be gentle, massaging the lotion into her skin. The marks were a blotchy purple-red. Unless Sansa missed her guess, it would take days before they began to heal, and longer still to disappear entirely.

 

Sandor shifted to the side, face coming into view as he smoothed the cream below her jawline. He looked to be sitting on his heels to be low enough to see properly. Even so, his eyes were level with hers. She tilted her head for him.

 

“What happened to your sister.”

 

He paused, and met her eyes for the first time since touching her. His were bloodshot, and though his face and beard look clean, sparkling with droplets of water, his jacket still showed deep stains. A long moment passed before he dropped his eyes again.

 

“Died. They said it was a fall.”

 

“What did you see?”

 

Another long pause.

 

“They said I found her- and I did right enough. Saw him standing over her. She had blood out her ears.”

 

“And your father?”

 

He’d finished with her jaw now, and she stuck her chin out for him. He looked at her for a beat too long before beginning, face very close to hers. He smelled of whiskey, sweat, and vomit.

 

“Dead.”

 

“How?”

 

Sandor dabbed cream onto his pointer finger, and began daubing it onto her chin, and very gently, onto her swollen lower lip.

 

“I got a call. They'd found his car wrapped around a streetlight. Drunk, they said.”

 

He smoothed the last of the cream into place with two fingers, rubbing it into her skin.

 

Sansa spoke carefully, around his movements. “Did that bother you?”

 

“No.” A long pause. “I hadn’t seen him in years. Never missed him either.”

 

He dropped his hands to his sides.

 

She extended her left foot, waiting. After a moment, he pulled it towards him with a hand to the back of her calf and began to pull off her socks.

 

“What about your mother? Dead too?”

 

Sandor’s peeled the first sock off. “Might as well be. Haven't seen her since..” He trailed off. “A damn long time. Before this, anyway.” He made a perfunctory gesture to his scars.

 

Sansa watched his face closely. “And your brother? Gregor?”

 

He didn’t move, just stared at her foot. After a moment, he came to life again and stripped the remaining sock off quickly. “I don’t know.”

 

It seemed to take a great deal of effort to say those words.

 

His voice had been flat thus far, and level. But it broke as he continued. “I know he was in jail, know he broke out. Don't know for what. The cops came looking for _me_. As though I’d fucking hide him.”

 

Sansa surveyed her ankle. She hadn’t looked this morning, noting only soreness and its ability to hold her weight. Not nearly as bad as the marks on her neck, a pale purple anklet, but Sandor spread on the cream all the same. The heel of her foot was braced on his thigh, pressed against the roughness of the denim.

 

“Is he bigger than you?”

 

Sandor glanced up at her, face carefully calm. “Yeah.”

 

“Really?”

 

He shrugged. “Maybe not. I was smaller then.”

 

His hand encircled Sansa’s ankle, smoothing the cream.

 

“You said he grabbed you by the back of the neck. Like a puppy.”

 

Sandor’s motions stopped, and he looked up at her. His face was inches away.

 

“You say he was bigger than you.”

 

His jaw worked. “Yes.”

 

She pushed on. “You remember when he grabbed you?”

 

He’d pulled her socks back on, tight against her toes. “I passed out.”

 

“But you remember.”

 

He didn’t answer. Just sat back on his heels, eyes looking at nothing. Sansa waited too. Sandor moved first. He got to his feet, in one smooth motion, and grabbed a handful of oats from the counter, which he ate dry.

 

Sansa watched as he gathered his scattered outerwear; hat in the corner, gloves under the sofa frame. He fished his bandanna from his sheets, and tying it in place, moved to the door. He didn't speak a word to her. Sandor quickly checked himself for his knife and pistol, seemingly finding them in their usual places. He strode out the door, slamming it sharply behind him. Sansa stepped forward to watch as he moved beyond the gate, and out of sight. After a few minutes, she heard the putter of the van’s engine.

 

She wondered if it wouldn't be better had he taken his pack, and all his things with him. Still, she had the feeling he wouldn’t return for some time. She heated water and allowed herself a luxury not taken since Sandor’s arrival: a slow washing of her hair, utilizing all the products they’d brought home the previous day, and a thorough body scrub. Afterwards, she stood nude in the tub, draining the remainder of the water over her head. After a leisurely drying and a thorough combing, she padded barefoot towards the kitchen. The tiles were cold under her feet.

 

Briefly hesitating, Sansa decided she was due a larger meal today. After long consideration, running her hands over her neck, she opened one of the cans of condensed milk. Mixed with a little oatmeal and a pinch of raisins, it slid sweetly and easily down her abused throat.

 

It was well past dark when Sandor finally returned. She’d been sitting cross-legged on her bed, until she heard the car engine. She ducked flat to the sheets, and watched as Sandor let himself in the front gate. She heard the key scrape in the lock. The spare key she’d given him, the first time he went out alone.

 

The door opened and closed, quietly. Sansa heard the quiet clink of metal on metal, and the sounds of the cabinet doors, opening and closing. After a time, she heard the thud of something set on the table.

 

A quiet knock on her closed door made her jump. She hadn't heard him approach. She listened carefully as he presumably retreated to his bed, listened to heavy thud of him falling onto it. Sansa picked up her candle and quietly let herself into the kitchen. Sandor didn't look up when she entered. He’d continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, quilt flipped over his legs. Although he’d removed his filthy jacket and boots, he was otherwise fully clothed.

 

Sansa turned to the table, and held the candle high and to the side. She could feel his gaze on the back of her neck, where she knew the bruises have darkened still further. She’d scraped her hair into that high bun again. A can of pineapple rings sat on the table. She looked for a long moment. Sansa wondered if more fruit were in the pantry. She quietly returned to her room, only the candle in hand. She did not slam the door, but closed it gently. Setting down the candle, she braced her shoulder against the dresser, shoving it into place. She couldn’t stop the slight gasp from escaping her lips as she pushed off her left foot.

 

In the absolute silence, Sansa dressed for bed, climbed in, and blew out the candle.


	7. Chapter 7

He was gone when Sansa woke the next morning. A thick blanket of silence lay unbroken as she struggled to clear her doorway. The first thing she saw as she emerged from the bedroom was Sandor’s bedding, tumbled in a heap on the cushions. Catching her breath, Sansa whirled about, staring into the corner. His rucksack was gone, but the newly acquired shotgun sat in its place, along with most of his extra ammo. She breathed out between her teeth, and turned towards the kitchen. 

 

A pot of water sat on the stove. When she dipped in an investigative finger, she found it slightly warm. He’d boiled it then. Entering the bathroom, she saw that the bucket had been emptied and scrubbed. Sansa returned to the kitchen. The can of pineapple rings had not been put away. It still sat on the edge of the table.

 

Ignoring the fruit, Sansa prepared her tea. She breakfasted on a few crackers, softened in the hot liquid. A trip to her bathroom mirror showed that her guess was correct; the marks around her neck had not faded. They stood out against her pale skin, stark as they had been yesterday. She brushed her teeth slowly, thoroughly. Sandor’s toothbrush, which she had placed on the sink for him, had not been unpackaged.

 

She would do laundry today, she decided. The house smelled decidedly worse for wear after the events of the past few days. She would do his bedding today, and perhaps hers tomorrow. She stripped his cushions, and set the lot to soak in the bathtub. Hauling the water took some time, but she ended up soaking the comforter twice, upon discovery of the vomit stain. She scrubbed hard, trying not to think about it.

 

When it was all as clean as she could make it, she carried each item outside to wring out, before draping it to dry inside. It would not do for them to be wet when Sandor came back. His cushions were taken outside, and beaten thoroughly, left to air in the afternoon sunlight.

 

Sansa took a deep breath through her nose. The air smelled sweeter already. She sat at the table to wait. As dusk approached, she remade Sandor’s bed. The comforter was still decidedly damp, but there was little she could do about that. 

 

Darkness fell, and Sandor didn’t come back. She sat at the table, eyes and ears straining for any noise, any sign that he might be approaching. None came.

 

Could he have left after all? His spare things were still in her drawer, but he might have abandoned those. The shotgun had no bullets. He might have left that, not trusting his luck to find more. Sandor didn't put much stock in luck.

 

But the spare ammo for his pistol was here. He wouldn't have left  _ that _ . He must have the gun with him, and the bullets alone were of no use to Sansa. So why  _ hadn't _ he come back. Bile rose in her throat, and she forced herself not to think of the possibilities. He had come back late the night before, he might be back even later tonight. She sat at the table to wait.

 

\-----

 

She was still sitting there when the sun rose the next morning. Sansa hadn’t slept, hadn't felt in any way inclined to. Morning became afternoon, and Sandor didn’t come back. More to distract herself than anything, she continued with the laundry. While her bedding dried, Sansa pulled Sandor’s spare clothes out of the drawer. He had washed them himself, but they didn't  _ smell  _ especially clean. She doubted he had bothered with soap. She would wash them then. He would have something clean to wear when he returned.

 

By the time the clothes were clean, wrung out, and hung to dry, Sansa’s hands were wrinkled and aching with the cold. Sitting down at the table, she tucked them under her arms to warm them. The light was fading. She should have gone to look for him this morning, when she’d had hours of daylight. Only she didn’t have a clue where he might have gone. He wouldn't have taken the van if it were anywhere especially close. 

 

She wondered what would happen if he never returned. How long would it take for her to add his blankets to her own, to reassemble the couch and armchair. How long before she started ‘visiting’ with him. Would she apologize? 

 

Sansa buried her head in her arms. She felt too drained to cry. She would not have anyway. Shedding tears would be like admitting it was over, nothing to be done. She kept her head down as the last vestiges of light disappeared. She could feel the temperature drop, and her ears began to ache with cold. Her hat was in the other room, but she simply let her hair down to cover them. 

 

She must have fallen asleep, because she started up quite suddenly, acutely aware of the cold that had seeped into her body. Her toes were numb in her woolen socks. A sound came from the other side of the door, twin perhaps to the one which had woken her. She scrambled up, chair scraping back across the floor. Her feet skidded over the tiles in her hurry, and she nearly fell, catching herself on the edge of the table. She’d just hurried up to the door, when the lock turned, and it opened.

 

Sandor stepped into the kitchen, and Sansa could tell immediately that something was  _ very  _ wrong. For one, the cart of supplies he had presumably brought sat abandoned just inside the gate. He had not pushed it to the front steps, let alone began to unload. For another, he moved very strangely, stilted somehow.

 

Sansa stood frozen in place, looking at him. He looked back. His woolen cap was pulled very low over his eyes, keeping them in shadow. He turned, and moved quickly towards the bathroom, leaving the front door open. Sansa hurriedly closed and locked it, head craning over her shoulder.

 

Sandor was standing in front of the sink, removing his jacket one-handed. The front of the garment was completely covered in gore, and his jeans were spattered with it as well. Sansa moved a pan of water back onto the stove, and lit the burner with fumbling fingers. Approaching the bathroom, she could see that he had removed more layers, a thick button down workshirt and a faded flannel. He’s struggling now, trying to pull his t-shirt over his head. He couldn’t seem to raise his right arm above shoulder level.

 

“Here-”

 

Sansa hurried in. She gestured for him to sit on the edge of the tub, and standing in front of him when he did so. With a little work between the two of them, the t-shirt joins the others on the floor, leaving Sandor with only a thin-looking undershirt. Sansa sucked in a breath, taking in the dark shadow covering the left half of his chest and shoulder. She jogged to her room, snatched the nearest candle, and moved quickly back.

 

Lighting the candle, she can see that the shadow is a huge bruise, angry red and faint purple. At her urging, Sandor raised his arm for her to remove the undershirt. With him bare-chested, Sansa could see that it extended almost in stripes, from his shoulder all the way down his torso, fading as it passed over his hip and beneath his jeans.

 

“What happened?”

 

He didn’t answer, turning towards the mirror, and examining his face. Sansa saw the faint scratches on his cheek. Her breath caught in her throat, and a faint choking sound emerged.

 

“ _ What happened? _ ”

 

He looked at her, and jerked his chin wordlessly towards the kitchen. Sansa turned, and saw steam rising from the pan of water. She retrieved it quickly, and Sandor resumed his seat on the tub’s edge. Only when Sansa was dabbing at his face with a clean rag did he speak.

 

“I went back to that town. Hit a few houses, went to the gas station.”

 

The water trickled down his cheeks into his beard, leaving clearly defined paths behind them. Sansa wet the cloth once more, and wiped his face from forehead to chin. He closed his eyes, allowing her to use broader strokes.

 

“I found a lot there- a bit of food in the back, and some other shit, stuff nobody would bother taking with them.”

 

Sansa rubbed a bit of soap on the cloth, and went over his face once more.

 

“I don’t know how I missed it. Must’ve been behind the counter. Or maybe just didn't come when I hit the wall. Takes them longer to do anything in this cold.” His voice was rough, emerging in an uncharacteristic mumble. His lips were dry and cracked. Sansa put the cloth down then, and retrieved a large mug of water. Before returning, she set the remaining water to heat. She sat on the closed toilet, handing him the mug. He downed it in several long gulps, and nodded his thanks.

 

“Anyway, I was at this shelf. Mostly empty. It was the sort that was open in the middle, you know. And it came around the corner. Went for me. Put it’s arm through, and I went back. It came forward.” His nostrils flared slightly. “Fat piece of shit. Took the shelf down.”

 

Onto Sandor, seemingly.

 

“And these?”

 

Sansa touched the scratches lightly. They stretched over his good cheek, beginning just below his eye.

 

He looked at her, and grimaced. “I didn't pass out really. But it took a minute to- to get my bearings. It was on the shelf, on me. The one arm was stuck, but it had the other.”

 

Sansa shivered. It must have been very close, perhaps as close as she was now.

 

“Took me a while to work my gun out.”

 

He fell silent.

 

“So you shot it?” Sansa wrung out the cloth, before bringing it to his shoulder, where the worst of the bruising looked to be.

 

“Yeah. Couldn’t get to my knife.” 

 

She glanced down- it sat, of course, on his left hip. She pointed to the scratches “So-”

 

“Yeah.”

 

She cleared her throat. “What does that mean for…” She trailed off, unwilling to put it into words.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment. Sansa remembered the antiseptic then. She opened the cabinet, and pulled out the small tube, crumpled, and half empty. He sat still for her to apply it to his face, but took her wrist as she reached for the cloth again.

 

She got up to leave, but turned back. “When was that? Why did it take to long to get back?”

 

“Last night. Because it took time to get out, to get everything off me. And by then, every Rotter in the neighborhood came by. The gunshot. It took a while for enough of them to leave.” His elbows rest on his knees, hands dangling limply between.

 

She retrieved the larger pot for him, hauling it laboriously to the bathroom counter. Then the door closed, and she was alone. She sat at the table once more. She could hear him splashing the water over himself, with the occasional hiss of pain.

 

She didn’t clasp her hands, nor bow her head. Staring blankly at the wall, she sent a fervent thought to who or whatever might be listening.

 

Let it pass. Let the sickness, the fever- let it not take hold. 

 

She couldn’t be alone again. And whatever he was, he did not deserve that.

 

Let it pass.

 

She sat in silence for a long moment, before she remembered. She knocked on the door, and he opened it, remaining half hidden behind it. His hair was full of suds. She held out the little pile of clothes, and he took them with one hand. She could see him sniff them as he closed the door. The detergent had been lavender scented.

 

After some time, he emerged. His spare things were not as warm as his usual wear- a pair of too-short track bottoms, and a long sleeved shirt. He’d pulled two of his shirts back on over it- the work shirt and the flannel. His outer collar was speckled with gore, but otherwise clean. He brought the candle over to the table, before fetching two of the blankets. He dropped one into her lap, before sitting across from her and arranging his own. He looked down, working the material between his fingers.

 

“You’ve been busy.”

 

Sansa shrugged.

 

The silence stretched onward. She thought hours had passed, but she couldn't be sure.

 

“How do you feel?”

 

The question hung in the air. Sandor looked over at her. “Like shit. No fever though.”

 

She checked all the same, stretching over to press a hand to his brow- cool.

 

She settled back into her chair, looking at him.

 

“How old are you?”

 

“Thirty four.” He looked evenly across the table. “How old are you?”

 

“Twenty one. How tall are you?”

 

He was staring at her. “Tall enough. Why.”

 

She shrugged. She knew so little about him. The solitary story he had told, as aggressively intimate as it was, was still only one piece of the puzzle.

 

“So you worked for the Baratheons?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

She kept silent, watching him. Waiting. A few moments passed, and he continued. 

 

“For almost seven years.”

 

Longer than she had expected.

 

“Free room and board. It was easy enough work- follow the kid around, when he went out. Make sure he didn’t do anything too stupid.”

 

He lapsed back into silence.

 

“I might’ve met you,” Sansa said, “If I’d met Joff a little younger.”

 

Sandor made no reply.

 

They sat in silence until the sun rose. It was a beautiful sight- pink and orange clouded the sky, as the light spread. Sansa’s nose was dribbling as she watched. She wiped it on her sleeve.

 

“How long ago now?” She gestured to the scratches.

 

He sat back slightly, the blanket slipping off his shoulder. “Day. Day and a half.”

 

“Oh.”

 

They sat in a rather meditative silence for several long moments. It was Sandor who ended the vigil, standing with a slight groan, his hands braced on his thighs. She stood as well, and followed when he exited the house, making a beeline for the cart. There isn't much in the way of food- a few cans of cheese sauce, jello powder, and a few unmarked cans. But the cart is filled with other supplies as well- more candles, handfuls of matchbooks, and best of all, a few tubes and packets of seasonings. He’d even brought back a few books, the cheap romances and thrillers that you might find at the store for a dollar or two. One even had something like a Rotter on the front. Its mouth gaped open, arms stiffly extended toward a shrieking blonde and a muscular, gun-toting man. It almost made Sansa smile.

 

It took several trips, Sandor toting one-armed loads of goods. In the very bottom of the cart, is a cardboard box. It tinkled, glass on glass, when she lifted it. Sandor met her eyes steadily.

 

“I might have needed it.”

 

She couldn’t think of a good argument for that. Upon entering the house, she moved the box to her bedroom closet, closing the door firmly over it. Sandor was settling down for bed when she moved back into the kitchen. When he’d come back, he’d looked rather like he had when he’d first arrived- filthy, and tired, with circles under his eyes. No sweat though, no fever. And his eyes were dull rather than overbright.

 

She was shuffling quietly through the new editions to her cabinets when he spoke behind her.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

She paused, before gently closing the cabinet. “Thank you.”

 

The can made a tinny, metallic sound when she opened it. The pineapple stung her throat slightly, but she ate it all, and drank the juice afterwards.


	8. Chapter 8

Sandor slept for a long time- long enough that it was dark again when he woke. Sansa stayed in the kitchen, watching him. What she could see of his face remained clear of sweat, and stayed it’s usual coloring. She studied him, studied the intact portion of his face. His cheekbones were sharp, making his face look gaunter than it really was. His eyes were very deep set, under a protruding brow. He might have been a good-looking man, had he been whole. Not handsome as Joffrey had been, with pale skin and aristocratic features, but in his own way.

 

When he stirred, she approached his bed. Sandor was pushing himself up awkwardly with his right arm, rolling to the side, when she knelt next to him. He remained still as she pressed a hand to his forehead. Still dry, and no warmer than it should be. He sat up when she withdrew, and rose to his feet.

 

“You should get some more sleep.” He had slept for some time, but surely it was not enough. He’d must’ve had less rest over the past few days than her, and the circles under his eyes were not entirely gone.

 

“Later.” He moved to the kitchen, and rummaged through the cabinets. He ate two whole cans of beans, and a tin of vienna sausages. When Sansa offered him the bag of stale crackers, he took a handful, using them to scoop up the beans. He eyed her across the table as he chewed.

 

“You should get some rest, little bird.”

 

It was almost affectionate, the way he said it.

 

She propped her chin in her hands. “How do you feel?”

 

“Better.” Sandor fished another sausage out of the tin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

When it became clear that Sansa won’t move until he's finished, he let out a sigh, and pushed the tin of sausages towards her. It’s a little less than half full, and she took it gratefully. She’s had little enough meat over the past few months.

 

When each can had been scraped clean, he settled back into bed. “Sleep now, little bird.”

 

She turned to him then. “My name’s Sansa, you know.”

 

His eyes were closed, arms crossed behind his head. “I know.”

 

She hesitated, before entering her room. “And you’ll be here in the morning?”

 

“Aye. I’ll be here.”

 

She slipped into her bedroom then, not bothering to change clothes. It’s very cold, but she had no trouble drifting off to sleep. She left the door ajar, enough to see Sandor’s dark shape. Enough to see the rise and fall of his breath.

 

\------

 

He’s still there the next morning, comforter drawn up over his eyes to keep out the sun. When he finally rose to his feet, its done stiffly. Sansa watched him stretch, and massage the back of his shoulder. He joined her at the table, and they shared a small bowl of oatmeal. He had glanced at her as he took his first spoonful, and she gestured towards the open can of condensed milk on the counter. It was not as good as honey, but it added some small measure of sweetness to the bland cereal.

 

Afterwards, as Sansa had finished cleaning up, Sandor approached with the tube of hand cream. She sat in the chair again, and let him apply it for her, one handed this time. She talked as he worked, telling him about Arya’s first dance recital. Sansa had been nine, and bored out of her mind. Arya had forgotten half the steps, but her beaming grin when Father had presented her with a bouquet of roses had made it all worthwhile. Sandor reached for her ankle, but Sansa stopped him with a hand to the wrist.

 

“That one’s nearly healed.”

 

He stayed where he was for a moment, kneeling with his gaze on the floor. When he stood, he retrieved a blanket for her, and she wrapped it around her shoulders.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Sansa wondered why it was so hard for him to say the words. He’d said them last night after all. Sandor was sitting on his cushions now, back up against the wall. She pushed her chair back so that she could face him. He looked up at the sound of the chair legs scraping over the tiles.

 

“Sandor- the bottles- I won’t-”

 

“Don’t worry, girl. It won't happen again.”

 

She swallowed, and pushed on. “Then you won't mind if I-”

 

“Of course I’d fucking mind.” His words were harsh, but his voice surprisingly gentle. “It was bloody stupid that night. All it did was make me remember. But sometimes it helps to forget.”

 

He looked up at her. “You might try it sometime.”

 

Sansa sat still, unsure of how to respond to that.

 

He continued, “There’s a little bottle of red wine in there. Thought you might like that. Could go alright with the cinnamon.”

 

Silence reigned for a long while. Eventually, Sansa pulled out one of the books Sandor had brought. A black-haired girl twirled on the front, in a green silk gown with one of those masks on a stick. Sandor sat on his cushions, tending to his weapons. Several hours passed before Sansa could admit to herself that it’s no use. She had reread the first chapter several times, always reaching the end only to realize that she had absorbed next to nothing.

 

Thumping the book down on the table, Sansa turned decidedly towards her bedroom. She could hear Sandor shift as he heard the clinking. She emerged with one of the bottles, a plastic one this time. The cheap vodka reminded Sansa of high school. It was something she might have drunk at a bonfire with Jayne, the two of them giggling to each other at their own daring.

 

She sat with her legs stretched forward, into Sandor’s space. She plunked the bottle down between them, almost challengingly. He looked steadily at her for a moment, before pushing her ankles back towards her, so that her knees bent. She relented, and tucked her legs beneath her.

 

Sansa took the first sip, shuddering as it burnt its way down her throat. She passed it to Sandor, who took a deeper swig than she had. They don’t speak the first minute or so, just pass the bottle back and forth between them. Sansa hadn't been much more than nipping at the alcohol, but she could already feel it affecting her, spreading warmth through her veins.

 

“I got drunk at my first high school dance, you know.”

 

Sandor looked up at her, before taking another swallow. He grimaced, and set the bottle aside, letting his head thump against the wall.

 

“I was fifteen. I’d gone with this boy Harry. He seemed- you know, perfect. High school perfect.” Sansa smiled slightly at the memory. “Anyway, he had this flask he kept pushing at me. I drank a lot. I was trying to impress him, I think. I wound up puking in the bathroom all night, and my friend Jayne had to call my father to come get me.”

 

She looked expectantly at him. He was staring at her. Neither broke the silence for a long moment.

 

“Well?” Sansa crossed her arms on her chest.

 

“Well what?” Sandor shifted his shoulder uncomfortably.

 

“This is when you say something back. You know, like people _do_ when they talk.”

 

With the vodka warm in her belly, Sansa felt brave. “Tell me something.”

 

He scowled. “What? I never went to any shit school dances.”

 

“Anything.” She settled back to wait.

 

He looked at her, long seconds crawling by.

 

“I was twelve, first time I got drunk. Proper drunk, anyway.”

 

She nodded in what she hoped was an encouraging way. “Why?”

 

“Gregor got arrested.” He lapsed into silence. Sansa waited, and he continued after a moment.

 

“First time he was. He’d got into a fight at a bar. Don’t know how bad he’d hurt them, but he was away for a bit.”

 

Sansa made an interested humming noise, but all was quiet for a while.

 

“I left after that.”

 

“Left? Left as in moved out left?”

 

He nodded.

 

She sucked in a breath. “And you were _twelve_?”

 

Sandor shook his head. “Said he was away for a while. I left when I was fourteen, maybe thirteen.”

 

Sansa closed her eyes, trying to imagine it. “Where did you go?

 

He shrugged. “Wherever I could. Didn't get my own place for a few years. Still had a key to the shed, I went there a few times. He wasn't always home. He drank a lot.”

 

Lips twisting, Sandor reached for the bottle, and took a pull from it before passing it across to Sansa. She studied his face as she took it. “Your dad?” At his nod, she asked “And your brother?”

 

He reached up, scratching at his scarred cheek, not looking at her. “He wasn’t always there. Sometimes though, when he didn't have a place.”

 

“That must’ve been awful.”

 

He accepted the bottle back. “Wasn't so bad. First couple of months were rough, but then Selmy helped out. Chief of police.” He studied the bottle before putting it aside again. “He let me sleep in his garage for a few years. He was never home. Got me a work license. He was the one who always arrested him, see.”

 

Sansa licked at her lips. They felt very dry in the cold, still air. “Couldn’t he have gotten you somewhere, found some better place?”

 

Sandor slipped down the wall a little, before straightening back up. He laughed harshly. “Where? No family. Wasn’t even reported missing. Best I would've gotten was some group home somewhere, and he knew it. No, it was better that way.”

 

Stretching, Sansa snagged the bottle by the neck. She took a sip, and wrapped her arms around it, cradling it to her stomach. It’d been months since she’d drank anything. It made it a little easier to be sitting here, to be asking these things.

 

“Do you hope he’s dead? Your brother?”

 

Sandor’s eyes were looking off into space, but he replied anyway. “Sometimes.”

 

“Sometimes?” The bottle was pressing into her ribcage through her sweaters. It felt good. Solid.

 

“Sometimes.” He was still looking at nothing, but she could see the anger in the set of his jaw, the clench of his fists. “Sometimes I hope he is. Sometimes not. But only so I could do it myself.”

 

This pronouncement should scare her, but it doesn't. “Sometimes I hope Joffrey’s dead.”

 

He looked at her then, the corners of his mouth lifting in a mocking smile. “Sometimes?”

 

She shrugged with one shoulder, and took another sip before passing the bottle back.

 

\------

 

It was still dark when Sansa woke. Her head was pillowed on something rough and uncomfortable. Her eyes felt glued shut, and it took some time to pry them open. She felt cold all through her body, her thick sweaters and jeans not enough to keep her warm. It took a long moment of staring at the denim under her cheek before she realized that it was Sandor’s knee.

 

She raised her head laboriously. Her arm was laid along his calf, hand resting on his boot, the laces of which were half undone. Turning her head the other way, she could see that he was slumped onto his uninjured side, head resting on his arm. Her own socked foot lay trapped between his shoulder and neck. She looked at it for a long time. It should be a bad thing, she thought. But the foot was the only part of her that was warm.

 

She didn’t want to move, but she was so cold- trying to ease the foot from him without waking him proved fruitless. As it slipped out, his head fell further onto his arm, and he jolted awake, head bobbing up slightly. His eyes looked blearily at her. Sansa tried to sit up, but the world spun, and she only succeeded in kneeing Sandor in the stomach.

 

He didn’t seem to feel it. Blinking hard, he stared at her for a few moments, before groping past her legs, beyond her vision. Something soft fell over her then. She inhaled, smelling lavender. Sandor had moved her foot back under his neck, and shifted for a few moments before going still. Using one hand, Sansa pulled the comforter up over her face.

 

\------

 

The morning was far too bright. Even under the comforter, it wasn’t dark enough. It took a few beats for Sansa to remember the night before. Or some of it, anyway. She rolled over, pressing her face into the cushions. Sandor must’ve gotten up already. She can’t feel him anywhere near her; his warmth or his weight on the cushions. It was very warm under the comforter, soothing to her aching head. She didn’t move, not until the increasingly demanding needs of her body drove her up.

 

Sandor was standing at the bathroom sink, mug of water beside him. He’d opened the other toothbrush, and was vigorously scrubbing out his mouth. Sansa understood. Her own mouth felt and tasted as though it had been stuffed full of dirty wool. He glanced at her, and seemed to understand her need. He stepped out of the small bathroom, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

 

When Sansa emerged, feeling slightly better, he walked past her to spit into the sink. She touched the pot of water on the stove- still hot. She scooped some into a mug, and added a teabag. The pounding in her head diminished only slightly as the warm liquid pooled in her stomach. Sandor dropped into the seat across from her, a steaming bowl in his hand. Sansa wrinkled her nose. The smell of oatmeal had never seemed appalling before.

 

They sat unspeaking, as Sansa nursed her tea and Sandor swallowed his oatmeal.

 

“How much-” Sansa winced slightly at the sound of her own voice. “How much did we drink last night?”

 

“Not too much for me.” He reached over to the counter, and lifted the bottle for her to see. It doesn’t look like much, but then it was a big bottle. Sansa had always vodka in shots or cocktails before. She noticed that Sandor, replacing the bottle now, seemed unaffected. A little rumpled maybe, but that was normal for the morning. He’d drunk more then she had. Or at least, more than she remembered drinking. It was very unfair, in her opinion.

 

He looked at her then, something like humor glinting in his eyes. “You sang for me.”

 

“I did?” He nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching. “What did I sing?”

 

He shrugged. “Sounded like a lullaby. It was nice, anyway.”

 

Well. “I didn’t.. I don’t know. Talk?”

 

“You did.” He was looking at his bowl now, wiping it clean with a finger, as he always did. Sansa narrowed her eyes. He was enjoying this a little too much for her liking.

 

“Well?”

 

He sat back, looking at her. “You told me about your sister, your brothers.” His eyes cooled then, losing their amused spark. “A bit about Joffrey.”

 

Sansa let her head rest on the edge of the table, next to her mug. The cold wood felt nice on her forehead.

 

“What did I say about him?”

 

“Lots of things.” Sandor’s voice didn't change in tone.

 

Something was drifting back, as though through a sticky fog. She raised her head to look at him. “Did you call him a cunt?’

 

He snorted. “Yeah. Because he is a cunt.”

 

“Was.” Sansa muttered against the rim of her mug. Sandor looked over at her. “He was in the city. Had just bought a house there.” She explained, “No way he got out.”

 

Sandor grunted. “We can only hope.”

 

That made her smile a little.

 

Sandor shifted in his chair. “We’ll have to go out again sometime. Get a few more loads of food, before we get snowed in. Get you something warmer that that coat of yours. Maybe some more blankets, if we can get them.”

 

“Yeah.” Sansa put her head back on the table-top. “But not today.”

 

“No.” She could hear the faint amusement in his voice. “Not today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, I started a new fic. Same pairing, MUCH different setting, and very different characterization of our two leads. Not nearly as in depth as this one here, but I'm having fun.
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/15846132/chapters/36904974


	9. Chapter 9

The next two days passed without event. Sansa had picked up the book again, but found that reading about ‘Jade’s’ whirlwind romances didn’t much appeal to her. Much more amusing, she found, was reading choice sections of the book aloud to Sandor. He would groan and complain, but he never asked her to stop. There really wasn’t much else to do in the small house, and Sandor didn’t seem interested in picking a book up himself.

 

“J _ade looked at the men before her. Michael, handsome and brave. Smartly dressed, and elegant to a fault. And then there was Stephano. Dark and daring, arms crossed over his chest in a devil-may-care-_ ” Sansa heard Sandor groan. She looked over at him, swiveling slightly as she perched on the back of the sofa frame. He’d pulled his woollen hat down, over his eyes. Sansa bit her lip hard, holding back her giggles, and continued: “ _-in a devil-may-care fashion. But who to choose? Michael had swept her off her feet, draped her in diamonds, taken her to the ball-_ ” Sandor began slowly and methodically thumping his head off the wall. Sansa doubled over silently, pressing the book to her stomach, before recovering enough to continue.

 

“ _\- while Stephano had shown her a new world. Treasures beyond measure, and free for the taking, if you could reach them of course. But the thief had left her there to be arrested, had run to avoid his own capture. Surely he would have sacrificed himself if he truly loved her-_ ” Sandor’s thumping became louder, and Sansa couldn’t continue. She shook with suppressed laughter, carefully folding the corner of the page to mark her place.

 

“So? What do you think?”

 

Sandor stopped his movements, and turned his head to face her, although his eyes were still hidden. “What do _you_ think I think?”

 

She couldn’t help but grin. “Who should she choose? Who would you choose?”

 

“Neither.”

 

“Well, you have to chose one.”

 

He huffed out an impatient breath. “Well, what about you then?”

 

She thought for a moment. “I guess you’re right.”

 

“I _know_ I’m right.”

 

They sat quietly for a moment. He was looking off into space again, eyes unfocused.

 

“What’re you doing?” He blinked, and looked at her. “You sit like that a lot.”

 

“Nothing.” He shifted against the wall, stretching his shoulder slightly. With any other man, Sansa would have taken that statement lightly. But Sandor tended to say exactly what he meant.

 

“Doesn’t that get boring?”

 

“No.” He shook his head. “You’ve been in here this whole time. I haven't. Out there-” He jerked his chin towards the window, “There's always something. Something coming at you, something you bloody need and you don't have. Can’t stock up, like we can here. Have to keep moving, so it’s whatever you can carry. It’s worse when you're alone. Can't even sleep half the time. So here, when there’s nothing-” He shrugged.

 

“Oh.” Sansa supposed that made sense.

  


\------

  


The next morning, Sansa emerged to see Sandor stretching, rotating his left arm. He gritted his teeth when he raised it over his head, but pronounced himself satisfied. She made him lift his shirt to show her anyway. The bruise had lightened a bit in color, the lines of it blurring slightly. Her own bruises were fading too. Sansa’s ankle had healed all together, and the marks on her neck had faded to a yellowish-green.

 

Sandor opened their flour this morning, and showed her how to make panbread. It was simple enough, but beyond bland-tasting. She would just have to get used to it. They had a lot of flour. Sansa dipped hers in the open can of condensed milk, while Sandor spread apricot preserves on his own, and rolled it up to eat it. Sansa though she would scrape off one of the loves of bread tonight, and salvage what she could. It would go well with the apricots, she could soak chunks in the juices to soften them.

 

It was getting colder. Sansa wondered how long it would take for the stream to freeze over. It was still running now, but she didn't think it would be for long. She turned to Sandor, and found him looking at her.

 

“Today?” She nodded, swallowing the last of her panbread.

 

Sansa was already dressed in her warmest clothes. She tucked her hair up, under her hat, and tugged it down over her ears. They exited the house together, and Sansa felt the colder air hit her cheeks. Frost crunched underfoot as they made their way out the gate, and down the front path. She walked behind Sandor, letting him lead the way to the van. They were just approaching it, when Sandor’s head whipped around. Sansa heard the noises a beat later, heard the shuffling footsteps. It came into view very slowly, from a nearby alley. It was making high hissing noises, almost snarls. Sandor watched as it moved closer, loading his rucksack into the van. When no others appeared, Sandor looked at Sansa.

 

“You have your knife?”

 

She nodded. “You know I do.” He’d _s_ _een_ her pocket it, not ten minutes ago.

 

“Go on then.” Sandor drew his knife. “I’ll be right behind you.”

 

The Rotter isn’t that far away anymore. Sansa could see the film of ice that had formed on the bottoms of its jeans. Sansa pulled out her knife. It looked utterly tiny, and inadequate. It was one thing when Sandor had held one still for her. This was another all together.

 

She sidled closer, and then jumped back when the tip of its wasted-looking fingers grazed her jacket, reaching for her. Sandor’s close behind her now. “Do it quick,” He said, voice pitched low.

 

And clean?

 

Sansa lunged forward, and stabbed down. Her knife bounced off the thing’s skull, and slid down it’s face, laying the cheek open. It was still coming- she could see its dirty teeth open, through the gash she had made. Sansa stumbled back, bringing the knife upwards. It pierced the underside of the thing’s jaw, just as Sandor’s punched through its temple. It slumped almost on top of her, and she let go of the knife, allowing it to crumple to the asphalt.

 

Sandor turned on her, bending to her level. He raised his knife, and shook it at her. Bits of gore were dripping from it.

 

“ _Never_ let go of your weapon. _Never._ What if there'd been another one?”

 

“But- but you were-”

 

“You can’t think like that. It’ll get you killed.” Sandor turned away, shaking his head. He cleaned his knife, first on the unmoving Rotter’s sleeve, then with a scrap of cloth pulled from his pocket. Sansa hesitantly approached the dead- doubly dead - thing. The knife made a squelching sound as she pulled it free.

 

“Would that have done it?”

 

He looked at the dripping knife, then shook his head. “Too short. It would’ve worked with mine.” He offered her the cloth, and she took it, tucking it into her own pocket when the knife was clean.

 

The started the van, and pulled out. Sansa cleared her throat, heart still pounding. “Birmington again?”

 

He nodded, eyes on the road. “We’ll start there, anyway.”

 

When they arrived, Sandor deemed the large mall too dangerous.

 

There was a thrift store across the way, and they went there first. They weren't the first through here- that much was made obvious by the gaps in the racks of clothes, and by the bodies scattered about, several still clad in store aprons. They carefully edged up to each in turn, but they all had obviously been dealt with, and none stir at their approach. Some had jagged stab wounds in the sides of their heads, others neat bullet holes. One had the top of it’s head nearly blown off. A shotgun, Sandor said.

 

Though the store was quiet, they stayed together as they searched through the clothes. Sansa quickly found a parka of her size. It’s even pretty, powder blue with fur around the hood. Sandor searched fruitlessly among the jackets, none of which look anywhere near large enough. They gave up on that endeavour, but managed to locate a thick sweatshirt that was only a little too short.

 

Sandor rolled up and pocketed a child-sized belt, of greenish fabric with a sliding metal buckle.

 

“For the strap,” He explained, gesturing towards her knife, still clenched in her hand.

 

“Oh.” She’d almost forgotten- he wanted her to keep her knife strapped to her arm, under her sleeve. The surprise for any non-Rotters.

 

Sansa’s new parka was big enough to wear over her jacket, and they rolled Sandor’s sweater into her bag. They exited the store.

 

They left the van in the store lot, and walked the two blocks to a small bar. The inside looked utterly deserted, and no Rotters appeared when Sandor rapped the bar with an abandoned beer bottle. There was a body in the corner, riddled all through with bullet holes. It was sitting up, head slumped against the wall. They saw no immediately obvious head wounds, but it didn’t stir at their approach. Sandor put his knife through its skull anyway.

 

To Sansa’s slight relief, he didn’t even glance at the bottles behind the bar. It wasn't as though they didn’t have enough already.

 

“Was this where you went?”

 

Her voice sounded too loud, as they entered the small kitchen.

 

“No. Liquor store behind the mall.”

 

The potatoes in the bin by the door were soft, sprouts covering every inch of the skin. They took them anyway, making a heavy lump in Sansa’s pack. They found a small box of sugar, and a few packets of instant coffee that seemed to make Sandor brighten a bit. Careful perusal of the closet revealed a few large, clear bags of pretzels, which disappear into Sandor’s bag. The small bottle of soap from the cramped restroom follows, along with a few rolls of toilet paper.

 

The last door remaining unopened would lead, or so Sansa assumed, to the break room. She gestured to it, remembering the stock they’d found at the grocery store. Sandor nodded. He pressed an ear to door, and rapped smartly on it. She heard nothing, and he straightened up, apparently satisfied.

 

They had already been moving when Sandor opened the door. He’d done it slowly, but a head thrust through, followed by an arm. Sandor stumbled back, ahead of the _thing’s_ snapping teeth. It advanced, with one, two, three that Sansa could see, crowded behind it, reaching.

 

Sandor hit the first with the heel of his hand, hard in the chest, thrusting his knife through the side of it’s head. It collapsed backwards to the floor, the one behind falling forward over it. He tried to slam the door shut, but the bodies on the floor stopped the door from closing. Hands were emerging from the crack, heads wedging through. Sansa couldn't see how many bodies, how many of _them_ were behind it. One of the Rotters caught in the door was laid flat, arm reaching, fingers just brushing Sandor’s boot.

 

“Sansa- go, get in the van.” His left arm was trembling, braced against the door.

 

“But-” She should stay, surely. She could help-

 

“I have to open the fucking door. Just go, it won't take long.” His teeth were gritted. The door was inching towards him.

 

She was gripping the knife hard, grip digging into her palm. Still, she hesitated. He started cursing at her then, and she finally turned away.

 

The street air was cold on her cheeks, and she realized she was crying. Wiping her eyes with the back of her glove, she hurried towards the van. He would come back. He had to.

 

She was only a block away from the thrift store, when she heard the voice. It was not Sandor’s- too high, too nasally. Another voice answered the first, lower and powerful sounding.

 

Sansa looked back- she could run, it wasn’t far back to the pub. But no- they would hear her, she would only draw them right to her, and to Sandor. She looked around. She was quite exposed, in the middle of the street. Any number of things could be hiding behind the nearby doors.

 

She backed up, ducking behind the nearest car. She fumbled for the door, but there was a body up against it. It would fall out should she open it.

 

The voices were coming nearer.


	10. Chapter 10

Sandor was breathing hard. It had been too close, closer than it should’ve been. The house was making him soft. Rising from his crouch, he levered one hand on the counter to push himself the rest of the way up. Stepping over the bodies, he pulled his bandana off with one hand, knife still held in the other. A quick look into the room revealed nothing useful. No weapons that he could see, and any food that was in there was food that Sandor wouldn't trust.

 

They’d been in there a while, from the look of them. Maybe from the beginning. He’d seen it before; they pile into a building or room, safety in numbers. Or so they thought. One would’ve been stupid enough to get bit, or already was. And the others too weak to finish it.

 

He swiped the cleanest part of the bandana across the upper portion of his face, removing most of the spattered gore. He hadn't had to use his gun. That’d been good. It would be a fucking long winter. Every bullet would count.

 

Sandor hitched the bag further up on his back and made for the door, tucking the dirtied bandana into his back pocket. She wouldn’t have gotten far. Maybe wouldn't even be at the van. The girl had wanted to stay, holding her little knife. As though that would help, the way she was with the things.

 

Sandor half expected to find her lingering by the bar, fluttering around like she did. She wasn't there. Good. She could follow orders at least.

 

He heard the voices as he opened the door, and stilled to listen. Two that he could hear, and coming from the wrong direction. Cursing under his breath, Sandor began to stride towards them, checking himself after only a few steps. Going in loud and stupid wouldn’t help anyone.

 

It seemed to take an age to reach the source of the voices, walking quietly by the wall, and pressing close to the bricks when he reached the corner.

 

There were still only the two that he could see. Standing at the edge of the thrift store lot. They weren't talking loudly, but still too loud for Sandor’s liking. They’d have every Rotter in the place heading this way if they didn’t shut up. He watched as they opened the doors to the nearest car, rummaging around inside.

 

The little bird would be in the van, if she’d listened. It was too close to them. Even if she’d had the sense to hide elsewhere, supplies were in there. He stepped out from behind the wall, and moved closer, breath puffing in the cold air. It took a few seconds for them to notice him, the smaller bearded man muttering to his taller companion. They turned to face him, and all was still. He knew what they saw, and knew what they’d do. They were quick, but Sandor was faster. The first bullet hit the tall man between the eyes, and he thumped back against the car behind him. The bearded man cried out, doubling over his stomach, pistol falling from his hands.

 

Sandor moved forward rapidly, drawing his knife. The stomach wound would kill him, but not the right way, and not quickly. Sandor was not a man without mercy. Afterwards, he wiped his knife on the man’s jacket, and made for the van. They would have to move, quickly. If there were others, they’d be coming this way, and they’d be ready. If not, there were still the Rotters. The van was empty when he pulled the door open, peering behind the seats to see if she was back there.

 

He swore, shutting the door hard. Smart to hide elsewhere, but damning now that it was over. She had no way of knowing if it was he who had fired the shots, or he who had been fired upon.

 

He made a quick circuit of the store, but nothing. Stupid, anyway. If they were that close, she wouldn't have had time to go here. Might not have had time to reach the store at all, actually.

 

His second trip down the streets between the thrift store and the bar, they started to appear. Only three at first, and easily dealt with. But there would be more.

 

If he couldn't find the girl- what?

 

Sit in the van? Hope she wasn't stupid enough to make a break from whatever refuge she’d found, ‘till they cleared off? Sandor glanced upwards. The sun was still high in the sky, but daylight didn't last so long this time of year. A few more hours at most.

 

It came then- a scraping sound. Small, but definitely there. Sandor turned, to see the small, grey compact car. He’d passed it three times now, giving only a cursory glance through the windows. There’d been an old body inside. The trunk was cracking open now. As he strode closer, it opened the rest of the way, and she began to unfold herself from the cavity inside.

 

She was talking already, of course. “Sandor- what happened? I heard-”

 

He lifted her the rest of the way out by the shoulders, setting her on the street. A quick once over showed no blood, no sign of injury.

 

Her face was paper white. “I heard gunshots.”

 

“That was me.” He realized he was still holding her shoulders, and let go abruptly.

 

She followed, keeping close behind him as he led her back to the lot. The Rotters were coming right enough. One was already on top of one of the dead men, chewing slowly. It turned, and hissed at the pair of them, strings of blood dripping from its mouth. A knife to the head, and it collapsed on top of the bodies. Sandor glanced back at the girl. She was standing stiffly, at the edge of the lot.

 

“Keep watch, just for a minute.” Sandor didn’t wait to see if she complied. The dead men both had packs. It took a moment to get them off. The corpses were already stiffening. Both guns, another pistol and a small revolver, were briefly examined, and pocketed.

 

“Sandor?” Her voice was high, scared.

 

He looked up. She was moving, finally, backing towards him. They were coming. Five that he could see. “Come on.”

 

Sandor led the way back to the van. They were too slow in this weather to pose a real threat, so long as the two of them left now. The doors slammed shut behind them, Sandor tossing the packs into the backseat. It took some work exiting the lot, swerving around parked cars and Rotters alike. But in the end, he did no damage to the car or to the Rotters, and they swung out on the main road.

 

They were halfway back before the girl spoke again.

 

“Why did you shoot them?”

 

He glanced at her. She was watching him, eyes looking very round, very blue. With her hair up under that hat, she looked even younger than she was.

 

“Because they would’ve shot me.”

 

“Oh.” She was quiet for a few moments, but he could feel her eyes on him. Gregor would’ve liked her. Sandor had been a kid, but he’d had eyes, and he’d always used them. His brother had always gone for the prettiest things, the most breakable things. The girls he’d brought around always had eyes just like that, round and watching.

 

“How do you know?”

 

Sandor gritted his teeth, feeling his hands curl tighter around the steering wheel. His gloves were thick, but his fingertips were already losing feeling. It would be a cold night.

 

“‘Cause I would’ve, if I were them.” He let that sit for a moment, before adding, “And because they were going for their guns.”

 

She didn't say anything else, the trip back to the house. Didn't say anything as they unloaded, and brought it all inside. She sat and watched as he went through the dead mens' packs. Surprisingly full, they contained a tidy array of food. Even a few candy bars. Also in the packs was a few extra rounds of ammo for the revolver, but none for the pistol. Sandor though his own bullets would fit that one. Best of all, in a little case in the second bag, was a small camping stove. The gas canister was only half full, but it would help. And unlike the stove, they might be able to refill this one sooner or later.

 

The girl didn't eat dinner, but watched Sandor gulp down half a can of soup. She only shook her head when he offered her the rest.

 

When the light dimmed, she stood, and went to the bedroom, not meeting his eyes. The door closed, but there was no scrape of furniture across the floor. That was something. Gregor was laughing, as he sometimes did, in the back of his head. Sandor knew what _he_ would’ve done.

 

The water in the little creek was icy when he splashed it over his face. He collected a pan, and dropped the bandana into the water, along with his gloves. The jacket was a lost cause, and the jeans could wait.

 

When he was as clean as was willing to get in the cold, he carried the pan back inside, and changed into what clean clothes he had. The cushions gave under his head, and he crossed his arms behind to support it. Both the ceiling and skylight were dark, but he stared at them anyway. Time ticked by, in that way that it had of doing. Sleep didn't come.

 

The blankets were not enough. Far from it. The cold tonight felt different, more penetrating somehow. The bottles were in the little bird's closet. They would warm him. Gregor would’ve gone in. He would’ve taken the bottles, and more. But he was _not_ his brother.

 

Sandor could feel himself shivering, in the darkness. The cold was bone-deep, aching. He could hear her rustling around too. She usually fell asleep quickly, or at least laid still most of the night. But not tonight. It only took a moment of consideration before he laboriously dragged himself up. He thumped his feet on the floor as he approached the closed door. She’d stopped her rustling now.

 

He knocked on the door. “I know it's too damn cold for you to sleep either, girl.”

 

Silence.

 

He sighed. “Either you can come out here, or I can come in there.”

 

Not that he would go in, but she didn't know that. She made no reply.

 

After several long moments, her movements started up again. She opened the door awkwardly, a pile of blankets in her arms, not looking at him. Between the two of them, they got all the blankets spread out evenly over Sandor's bed. She seemed unwilling to share the cushions with him, and he was damn sure unwilling to give them up. In the end, he laid on his makeshift bed, while she lay beside him on the floor.

 

She was shuddering almost violently. He hoped it was the cold. Beneath the veritable mound of blankets and quilts, it warmed slowly. Sandor’s shivering stopped, and her’s slowed. They lay quietly in the darkness for some time. He could feel her warmth radiating towards him, over the careful space between them.

 

He supposed, laying there in the darkness, that he should’ve given her the cushions. But the floor was bloody hard.

 

“I’ll leave you know, in the Spring. If you wanted.” He cleared his throat. “I’d leave now. If you asked.”

 

She didn’t answer. She’d stopped shivering.

 

Sandor had just turned onto his side, back towards the girl, when she spoke.

 

“I understand why you did it.”

 

He made no reply, but could feel his muscles relaxing. He hadn’t known they were tense. He could hear her breathing, long and slow. She almost seemed asleep.

 

After a long pause, she spoke again. “You said my name. Before. When they were coming out the door.”

 

Had he?

 

Slight rustling behind him. “Goodnight, Sandor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. It's been one hell of a weekend.
> 
> Thoughts on the change in perspective? From both a literary and structural standpoint?


	11. Chapter 11

Over the next few days, some measure of normality returned to the little house. Sansa watched Sandor, and she knew that he was watching her, though she rarely caught him at it. For the most part, quiet reigned, although Sansa still spoke every now and again. She told him about Jeyne, and how they’d met. The childish rebellions they’d gone through in high school. Sansa’s hadn't ended there, but she omitted that part. She still read her book, although with little interest anymore. She would occasionally read some portion aloud, and Sandor would still comment, but most of the fun had gone out of it.

 

For his part, Sandor seemed more active than she’d yet seen him. He spent his hours cleaning the new guns, although he said he would have to test them sometime. Just to be sure. In the evenings, when it turned cold, he would exercise, push-ups, sit-ups, and the like. Sansa had tried it herself, but it didn’t appeal to her. Push-ups had never been her forte, and though he never laughed outright, she had the feeling Sandor was trying not to when she tried. She always sat by him while he did his. The heat he produced was incredible- after awhile, he would start to sweat, and actually remove a layer or two. Sansa thought she really should try it again, sometime soon.

 

Her nights were warmer, although always uncomfortable, at least for her. Sandor didn't seem to be bothered by her proximity, although he always slept with his back to her. She had followed suit, feeling somewhat relieved. The uncomfortable intimacy of sharing a bed with this man could only be made worse, she was sure, by eye contact. Sansa hadn’t shared a bed in years, not since her teenage sleepovers with Jeyne, and never with a man before. Cersei had said it wasn't right until they were married. Silly in retrospect, given what else she and Joffrey had been doing, but Cersei had always turned a blind eye to things she didn't want to think about. It was a good thing anyway. After those first few months, Sansa had lost any desire to share anything with Joffrey, let alone a bed.

 

Sansa looked across the round table. She always wondered if Sandor was listening, when she spoke like this. She’d been telling him about Bran and his drawings. Cartoons had been his favorites, superheroes and heroines.

 

He looked up at her then, and she realized she’d stopped talking. He slid the new pistol, reassembled, across the table, and circled around to kneel beside her, putting his face level with hers.

 

“I’ll show you how to shoot today.”

 

Sansa stared at the gun. It seemed so- dark. Cold looking. She'd never fired a gun before.

 

“Shouldn't we-” She licked her lips. “Should we shoot it here?”

 

Sandor shook his head. “That'll come later. Just grip, and aiming now. See?”

 

He opened the gun, showing that it was unloaded. Sansa put out her hand, and wrapped it around the grip. It was cold under her fingers. Lifting it, she found that it was heavier than she expected.

 

“Both hands.” She glanced over at him, and he explained, “You’ve never shot a gun before.” She shook her head, though he hadn’t been asking a question. “You won't be used to the recoil.” He glanced downwards. “You have small wrists, anyway.”

 

She gripped the pistol awkwardly in both hands, trying hard not to aim it at anything important. Unloaded it might be, but it was the principle of the thing. Sandor put his hand over hers, adjusting the way her fingers spread over the grip. “That's it.”

 

He withdrew somewhat, leaving her holding the weapon, arms slightly outstretched. Sansa looked at him, unsure of the next step. He nodded at her, and rose to his feet. “Put your gloves on, then.”

 

It was cold outside, with a bitter wind whipping at Sansa's exposed cheeks. She had a scarf, somewhere. Maybe two, if Sandor was lucky. The gun felt awkward in her gloved grip. It slipped as she raised it in both hands.

 

“Hold it tighter.”

 

He was standing to the side, tying his bandanna to the fence. It rippled, moving in the wind.

 

“I thought we weren't going to shoot it now.”

 

He walked back towards her.

 

“We’re not. But you can still  _ aim. _ ”

 

She did so, squinting at the black cloth. He nudged the muzzle, adjusting her aim. “This is the only time it'll ever be unloaded, but you should always treat it like it is.” He adjusted her grip, his own gloved fingers pushing at hers until he was satisfied. He pointed to the safety, and made her click it on and off several times.

 

Sandor stood back then, and gestured towards her target. “Well, go on then.”

 

Sansa stared at it, not quite willing to squeeze the trigger. There were no bullets; they had both checked before exiting the house. Her father's gun had always stayed in his desk drawer. She'd never shot it herself of course, but each of his children had gotten the Talk. She remembered her own well. She'd been just old enough to look over top the drawer. He'd removed the bullets, just as Sandor had inside, and put it into her hands. He had spoken of course, about how it wasn't a toy, how it was for self defense only and should not be touched otherwise. But none of his words had impressed anything upon her more than the cool, metal weight of the gun in her hands.

 

He'd taken it to the grounds then, and shot it in front of her. He'd had her put ear plugs in, but she'd cried anyway. He had picked her up after, and kissed her, promising she'd never have to see it again if she didn't want to. He'd done that with Rob before her, and with all three of her younger siblings. As far as she was aware, none had ever touched the gun without permission. He'd taught Rob how to use it when he'd reached high school. Arya had begged to learn too, but Father had said she was too young, that she could learn when she was older. She'd gotten a BB gun that Christmas though, and he'd spent as long teaching her to use that as he'd spent showing rob his way around the real thing. He’d never asked Sansa if she wanted to learn; he hadn’t needed to. The whole family had known that she didn’t like such things. Sansa wondered if Rob had taught Arya after all, the way father always said that he would. If he hadn't, Jon certainly would have. The two of them had always been close.

 

“Well?” She started a bit, and looked over at Sandor. His hair was moving in the wind, flopping over his face.

 

“Sorry.” The gun had lowered slightly, and she raised it once more. “ I was just thinking. My sister had a BB gun, years ago.”

 

Sandor just looked at her. “And this helps us- how?”

 

She shrugged. “I tried it once. I wasn't very good.”

 

He scoffed at that. “If it was only once, you wouldn't have been. That's why we're here.”

 

It had been the spring after Arya had been gifted the thing. She'd been crowing to Sansa about it, how she could hit the can every time now. She'd pushed Sansa to try, as far as Sansa knew, for the sheer pleasure of seeing her miss. Arya had always taken every opportunity to be better than Sansa at something, though this had been limited to shooting and dancing. And, now that she thought about it, common sense. Her sister had never liked Joffrey.

 

She pointed the gun towards the fluttering bandanna, and squeezed the trigger, doing her best to ignore her pounding heart. There was no shot of course, but the dry click still sounded jarring to Sansa’s ears. Sandor moved behind her and took the gun, lowering himself to her level. She watched him as she heard the dry clicks, studying how he held it.

 

“You have to line up the sights-” he tapped them, on the barrel, ”Line them up with each other, and to your target.” He took aim again, Sansa watching closely, before handing her back the gun. She fumbled with it for a moment, fingers feeling stiff and cold within her gloves, before gripping it, and looking to Sandor for approval. At his nod, she raised her arms again, trying to aim as he had been.

 

“You'll want to close one eye, ‘till you get a feel for it.” Sansa did so, and after a long moment of aiming and adjustment, squeezed the trigger.

 

He nodded. “Better. Aim lower; the recoil will throw you off at first.” She lowered her arms some, but Sandor twitched them back up a bit with a hand to her wrist. “Not  _ that _ low.”

 

They stayed out until Sansa's hands were well and truly numb. Though the gun was empty, she clicked the safety anyway, while Sandor was removing the bandanna from the fence.

 

“Maybe we'll use live ammo next time, some place in town. Good time of year for it, before we get snowed in.  Rotters won't bother us as much. And you won’t really know what your doing ‘till you get some proper practice in. It’ll take some time.”

 

She smiled, a little weakly at him. The gun was still cold bleeding cold through her gloves. “You’re a good teacher.”

 

He snorted at that. Then he paused, tucking the cloth into his back pocket with one hand, pulling his hat lower with the other.

 

“I can leave a box with you, in the Spring.”

 

Sansa shook her head, keeping her eyes fixed on the gun in her hands as she turned towards the house. “ _ We _ won’t need to leave anything.” She wondered how she should carry it. Shoved into the front of her jeans didn’t seem safe, although Sandor hadn’t shot himself yet.

 

He didn't move for a moment, and Sansa fumbled the gun first into, and then out of her jacket  pocket. That didn't feel right either, not smooth enough. She heard him approach then. Sandor laid a hand, large on her shoulder, and she let him draw her back to the house.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Sansa closed her eyes as she pulled the brush through her hair. The bristles lightly scraped her scalp, and she shuddered slightly. The bedsheets were warmed under her legs, but she missed the warmth of the blankets. She had not slept here for some time; and all the blankets were needed elsewhere. She heard Sandor shift in the other room. He was watching, as he’d watched last night, and the night before that. The open door was an offer after all, an invitation to look. And he was not the sort of man to refuse what he was given.

 

Sansa shivered again, from cold this time. Her night clothes were not as warm as her day-wear, but that wouldn’t matter for long. Sandor radiated heat. Even when he complained of the cold, he always seemed to put off warmth. The brush slid easily through her hair, from root to tip. She’d long since worked out any knots or tangles, but she kept working steadily through her hair. It felt good; both the brush against her scalp, and Sandor’s eyes on her. It was a small pleasure for them both; he for the watching and she for the being watched. Such things were hard to find these days.

 

She sighed behind the curtain of hair. It was no good to keep going; it was just too cold tonight. She brushed her hair back, and braided it with fumbling fingers. She could spend her time doing something more intricate the next morning. Sansa closed the bedroom door behind her, as she made her way into the living room. The candle was almost too hot in it’s glass jar, shocking to her numb fingers. She had to step over Sandor’s legs to reach her usual spot. Sansa placed the candle on the floor while she slipped under the blankets and settled against the cushions.

 

Sandor had rearranged them a few days back, the morning after she’d first left the bedroom door open. He hadn’t said anything to her about it, but she appreciated it. The short, double row of cushions supported her to the hips, leaving her lower legs to trail on the floor, but was infinitely better than sleeping on the wooden floor. If she curled up tight, she could be on them entirely. It had to be less comfortable for Sandor, who had no hope of staying entirely cushioned at his height, but he made no complaint.

 

Sansa curled up on her side now, her back to Sandor as she warmed under the covers. He was sitting up against the couch frame, only his lower half under the blankets. Sansa wondered if she should blow out the candle. It was too early to sleep, really. It got dark earlier and earlier lately, and had stayed cold all the while. If she really wanted, she could put on her parka and take the candle to the table. She’d found that some of the books were actually quite good; and they didn’t lack for candles anymore.

 

Sansa blew out the little flame, and lay in the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust. When the edges of the room became a little clearer, she rolled onto her back, relaxing her tightly curled legs a bit. She could see Sandor’s profile in the darkness. She wondered if he was still watching her, although in the darkness there wasn’t really much to watch. Maybe he did like red hair after all. Or maybe it was just that it was only the two of them. It wasn’t as though there were any other women to look at.

 

As always, it was Sansa who broke the silence. “I used to have sleepovers with my friend Jeyne, sometimes. When we were kids.” Teens, really, but it seemed so long ago. “She had _such_ a crush on my brother Rob. It really got to me when she slept over- she’d be all giggly, and she’d put on these little silk pajamas.”

 

She felt him shift beside her. “Is that so?”

 

If he had been Rob, or even Jon, she’d have smacked him on the shoulder. She compromised by poking him hard in the leg with her socked foot. “We were sixteen.”

 

If he hadn’t been looking at her before, he certainly was now. “So. What’s the rest of the story.”

 

Her cheeks felt hot, and she was glad of the darkness. “There is _no_ story. Jeyne’s family moved away next year. The end.” She curled her legs up again, watching the blankets mound over them. Jeyne had never met Joffrey. She’d moved away only a few months before Sansa had. That was good- she could usually think of Jeyne without her thoughts bleeding over into less pleasant subjects.

 

“So.” She cleared her throat. His warmth was pleasant, but his nearness made her a little uncomfortable, though she was on the very edge of the cushions. “What was it like, working for the Lannisters?” She’d asked the question before, but he hadn’t really answered. Since their first gun lesson, he’d been spoken a little more, although this was usually in instruction, or in response to something she’d said.

 

Sandor remained quiet for a moment. Sansa thought he had decided to ignore her, and it startled her a little when he spoke. “It was alright, for the first few years. Wasn’t hard, anyway.”

 

She waited, but he didn't elaborate. “How’d you get into it?”

 

After a brief pause, he continued. “I was working security. At this bar. High end place. They wanted bigger guys for security, they said, to discourage problems before they started.”

 

He’d be good at that. He could certainly be intimidating when he wanted to be. “Did it work?”

 

He shifted in the darkness, and Sansa thought he might be shrugging. “Sometimes. But it worked for me. Didn’t even really have to interview. They just saw me on the street, and asked if I wanted a job. Anyway, the Imp was there, drinking with Baratheon. And he saw me, and called me over. Said he needed security for his nephew. And Baratheon looked at me, and said I’d be good for his son.”

 

Sansa frowned. “What, and just like that, you had another job?” It didn’t sound like Cersei, to allow a stranger close to any of her children, without any sort of vetting.

 

“Not just like that. Had to go up to their place, interview proper. Background check, drug test, all that shit. Cersei didn’t like me much, but that didn’t matter. It was Robert who wanted me, and he pushed it through.”

 

Sansa pulled the comforter up to her chin. “When was this, anyway?”

 

“Ten years back, maybe a bit more. Can’t remember now.”

 

She felt her brow wrinkle. “Joff couldn’t have been more than eleven then. Why would he need security?”

 

“Wasn’t him that needed security, really.” Sandor barked out a bit of a laugh, but it wasn't a happy sound. “Baratheon told me a bit, and Preston, their head of security, told me the rest. Told me what the kid did to his brother’s cat. What they’d caught him doing to his sister. They wanted him watched, wanted someone he might listen to.”

 

Sandor snorted. “Kid’s own father wouldn’t sit with him. Tell him what’s what. But the pay was decent. And they put me up in a room in the big house, and got me an apartment in the city too.”

 

Sansa sat up beside him, still at the edge of the cushions. “You sound almost like you felt sorry for him.” Her stomach felt knotted, tense.

 

He shook his head. Sansa could see his hair swinging loosely around his face. It was getting longer. “He was a rotten little shit. I had to sit with him all day, I could see that. But maybe he wouldn't have been as bad, if his father didn't act like he did, pretending he didn't have a family half the time. If his cunt mother hadn’t acted like his every shit was made of gold. I don’t know.”

 

Sansa let her breath out, relaxing slightly. Of course, she’d already known what he thought of Joffrey. He’d told her so.

 

The silence stretched on. She cleared her throat a little, and turned towards Sandor. She hadn't meant to bring it up like this. She’d meant for the mood to be lighter. “I was thinking.”

 

“What was the little bird thinking?” He shifted, sliding under the covers and onto his back, arms crossed beneath his head.

 

She swallowed a little and pushed on. “We should have a Christmas.”

 

Silence. She could feel his eyes on her, and she fidgeted.

 

“A dinner, I mean. It’s not really time yet, but I thought- while we still have the spices, we could do something nice.”

 

He didn’t say anything. Sansa could feel herself wilting under his stare, though she couldn’t see his face. “I know it’s a stupid idea. We don’t have to.”

 

His voice came out of the darkness. “I could maybe get us a rabbit, or something.”

 

She looked sharply at him. “You can hunt?”

 

He shook his head. “Not really. First group I was in, there was a hunter there. He didn’t want to waste bullets, so he did snares. Showed me a few things.”

 

“Why didn’t you try before?” Sansa had seen the occasional rabbit, both Before and After. Before Sandor, she’d given some idle thoughts towards catching one, but she hadn’t been able to think how. Besides, she wasn’t sure she would’ve known what to do with it once she had it. But of course, Sandor would know.

 

“Because I didn’t think it was smart to have dead animals in the woods around here. Draws in Rotters. But now and then won’t hurt. And with it so cold, they’re probably less likely to get at it.”

 

“Oh.” Sansa waited, but he didn’t say any more. He rolled onto his side, facing away from her, as was their customary position. She watched him for a moment longer, before doing the same.

 

“Good night, Sandor.” He let out a grunt in answer. She pulled the comforter up over her face, waiting for sleep to come.


	13. Chapter 13

Sandor sat at the table, and watched the girl sleep. It always took him by surprise, what she could sleep through. She hadn’t woken when he’d gotten up, several hours before, nor when he’d gone groping through her coat closet, or when he’d exited the house. He’d set all his snares, and all there was to it was the waiting. She’d wake soon though- she was already stirring under the blankets, mouth twitching.

 

He wondered what he’d have seen, if he’d gotten a proper look at her years back, at the Baratheon’s place. Maybe something different. Joff had liked his girls prettied up, with makeup and all that shit on.

 

He thought he’d like her better now. The last time they’d gone out with the pistol, the sun had been shining, clear and bright. She’s burned across the bridge of her nose. It was starting to peel now. He thought she might have freckles after. She was getting better. She wasn’t so afraid of the gun anymore. Not that she’d actually shot it yet.

 

Her braid had come undone sometime in the night, and strands were stuck across the front of her face. She blinked slowly awake, and he watched her smack her lips, making a face as she pulled hair out of her mouth. He felt the corners of his lips twitch.

 

She’d just stumbled to her feet, and made her way into the bathroom, when the thought hit him. Joffrey shouldn’t have had this. Not that a cunt like him would have appreciated it, anyway. But it was good that he was gone. Even if he’d somehow gotten out of the city, he couldn't have survived in a world like this on his own. And nobody cared about money anymore.

 

Sansa might like to hear that thought. She’d deserved better.  _ Anyone _ deserved better than Joffrey. He still remembered the first girl- tall, with smooth dark skin, and a gleaming white smile. Not that he’d ever really met her. Joff had been maybe fifteen, and Robert had told Sandor to back off, leave the boy alone. The kid and his mother had concurred- “Dogs would be too frightening for the girl”. He’d lurked though, every time she came up. Tried to keep an eye on the pair of them. It had been he who’d heard them, who’d pulled Joffrey off of her. He’d known they were fucking, had heard them at it before, but this time had been different. She’d had bite marks all down her neck and shoulders, and she’d been crying. The girl and her family had moved away, and from what he’d understood, money had been involved.

 

Robert had backhanded the boy across the face, and shouted loud enough for the whole floor to hear, but he hadn’t stopped the next girl from coming over. Or the one after that. He’d never caught anything like that again, but Joffrey had gotten more careful. It was only a year or two after that when they’d moved Sandor out of the main house, away from Joffrey. He’d left all together a few months after that. He wished he hadn’t. The little bird had talked, when she drank. Nothing she’d said had surprised him, but he’d wished he could have the little cunt here anyway. No one to miss him, in this new world. It would be easy. 

 

Sandor shook his head, and blew his breath out hard through his nose. It was shit, thinking this way. He hadn’t been there, and no wishing would change that, nor would it bring the boy back to kill again. He sipped the dark liquid in his mug. It was a poor excuse for coffee, but it was better than nothing. There wasn’t much left now, but he might have a second mug. It being Christmas and all.

 

The girl sat at the table then, fully dressed, although still bleary-eyed. Her hair was tucked up under her hat. A shame, that. She spoke around a yawn, “Wher’v you been?”

 

So she had noticed after all. “I set those snares. If we’re lucky, we might catch something.” They might have to be  _ very _ lucky. He hadn’t set a snare in months, not since the first few weeks of this shitshow. And he hadn’t been very practiced at it then.

 

“Oh!” She looked almost surprised. “Are we doing that today?”

 

“Wasn’t that the plan, girl?”

 

She looked fully awake now, color coming into her cheeks. “We’ll have to clean some, then. While we wait on your snares.”

 

He stared at her. “What?”

 

“So it’ll be proper. You can’t have a Christmas in a dirty house.” She didn’t eat breakfast on Christmas either, apparently, jumping up to begin. She stopped before absurdity, limiting her cleaning to putting away everything on the counters, neatening their bedding, and running a damp cloth over the table.

 

She turned to him. “Could you get me some water? For washing?” She was moving into the bedroom, stripping a sheet from the bed. He’d already gotten water for drinking today, but he took the pan outside again. The sun of the past few days had been obscured by grey clouds. The air was cold, and still. It might snow from the look of it. Hopefully not much- it’d been dry, these past weeks, and he had hoped it would remain so for some time. If not, they really should make a run, get some more supplies while they still could. Sooner or later, they would be snowed in, with only what they had. 

 

The edges of the stream had frozen over. As he filled the pan, he wondered what they’d do after the whole thing went. Snow, probably. Sandor carried the pan inside, to see the girl carrying an armload of clothes to the bathroom. When she dropped them into the tub, he recognized them as his own. She flushed when he looked at her.

 

“I just thought-” She licked her lips. “I thought we should be wearing clean clothes.”

 

He couldn't help but let out a dry laugh at the idea. But he filled the tub for her anyway. He shuffled through their cans of food, listening to her slosh everything around in the tub. He wasn’t a bad cook, in his own opinion. He’d been on his own for years, and he’d gotten tired of ramen and frozen shit. When he’d gotten a real kitchen, in his first apartment, he’d learned his way around it quickly enough. But something told him that she’d be better at this than he would. 

 

So he brought more water when she asked for it, and helped to carry the clothes outside when he saw her struggling under their weight. He was content enough to play mule, and to watch her wring out the cloths, furrow forming on her brow as she strained. They hung them up to dry, around the inside of the house.

 

She busied herself in the kitchen then, shuffling through pots and pans, pulling out all the remaining spices. Sandor paused by the door. “You know, I might not have caught anything.”

 

“I know.” Sansa pulled out a bag of flour. “But it’s still Christmas. I can make  _ something _ that’ll taste alright.”

 

Sandor eyed their pantry, depleted by her scavenging. They would most definitely have to go out again, soon. The air was cold on his face as he exited the house. He wrapped the scarf around the lower half. It was a soft thing, too delicate, and peach colored besides. But she’d given it to him. And it worked better than his bandanna, anyway. He’d made as many snares as he could, supplementing his own limited supplies with several wire hangers from Sansa’s closets. Most were empty, but two bore fruit. At the first, he pulled free a good sized rabbit. It was still warm. Good. It hadn’t been sitting long then, although in this cold, it hardly mattered. The second trap also had a rabbit, somewhat smaller than the first. It had already been found, the back of a straggly head bobbing over the red-stained fur. It didn’t even look up before he’d gotten his knife into it. He looked at the rabbit in distaste. There was no way of salvaging it, the Rotter had gotten it’s teeth deep into the gut, pulling entrails out onto the frost-coated leaves.

 

He’d set the snares a ways from the house, but he dragged the corpse and the dead rabbit a distance anyway, towards town. Sandor paused long enough to strip his gloves, and butchered the rabbit a few paces away. Better to do it further from the house. He moved through the trees, pushing low-hanging branches out of the way. He hesitated a moment, when the house came into sight. Turning abruptly, he strode to one of the smaller trees nearby. One-handed, holding his kill out of the way, he worked one of the whippy branches back and forth, until it broke. It oozed sap onto his fingers, but he carried it to the door anyway.

 

The girl opened the door before he could, and took the skinned rabbit with a wordless exclamation. Sandor understood. He hadn’t had fresh meat in too long. Longer than he could remember. She ushered him inside, blinking as she saw his second prize. Wordlessly, he held the broken end of the branch under her nose. She recoiled for a moment, before approaching again. She smiled at the pine scent, as he’d hoped. It smelled different in the house. He looked over, and saw a small pot on the stove, gently bubbling. By the scent, it was that bottle of red wine, from the box in her bedroom. With cinnamon too, maybe. She took the branch from him as well, and gestured to the bathroom.

 

“Go on and change. I heated some water for me, and there’s some left over, so you can wash up too.” She had changed- she was wearing another of her sweaters. Pale blue, and soft-looking, but too thin by far for the cold. 

 

Sandor did as he was bid, gratified to find the water still a little warm. His spares were a bit damp still, but he put them on all the same. A small cloud of steam was warming the kitchen when he emerged. She’d prettied up the table some, draped a freshly washed sheet over it. The fading light would be combated by a few unlit candles, already arranged, and the pine branch had been cut neatly into sections, and arranged in the middle. Sansa was crouched by the table, sweeping pine needles up with her hands. She straightened, looking over at him as he emerged.

 

She tugged her too-thin sweater straight, looking almost nervous. “I have the meat-” She gestured to the counter. “It’ll be ready soon.”

 

Sandor sat at the table, watching her. She had cut the rabbit into smaller chunks, and was coating each chunk with some sort of flour mixture. A pan on the stove bubbled with heating oil. “I’m going to fry it, and there’s some gravy to go with. From one of the cans.” She went on like that for a while, pointing between several pans. He wasn’t really listening, as he lit the candles. The sound of her voice, as it usually was, was enough to make the time pass pleasantly enough.

 

“Sandor?”

 

He gave an inquiring noise, to show he was listening.

 

“Could you get those candy bars, from the cabinet? And a bowl? I thought we could cut a piece of each type, and have it for desert. For variety.” By some unspoken agreement, they had both avoided eating those. Saving them, he guessed. He did as he was asked, pushing the bowl to the far side of the table when he finished. The rabbit was browning in the pan, and the smell made his stomach grumble. From the nervous giggle drifting from Sansa’s direction, she could hear that.

 

Soon enough, she was arranging the meat on a plate, pouring the gravy and green beans into a bowl together. It was just making more work for later, when they had to scrub everything, but he said nothing. She even pulled out a couple of wine glasses, from some cabinet or another. It made him think of Marie. They hadn’t started serious, and they hadn’t ended serious. But she’d used to make him dinner, sometimes. He hadn’t been upset when she’d moved for a job. She’d made him a last dinner, they’d had a last night, and that was that. He hadn’t given her much thought since.

 

The girl sat down across from him, and smiled that same nervous smile. Like she wanted something from him, wanted him to say that all this was all right. Not that Sandor had ever really done Christmas before. Not what the little bird would consider proper, anyway. And when he’d left, it had seemed stupid to try on his own.

 

There was more food here than he thought they could eat, with the way his stomach seemed to have shrunk in recent months. She’d made panbread too. Under her anxious eyes, he reached for the rabbit, but she beat him to it. She put the largest piece onto his plate, and added a big piece of panbread, drizzling the gravy-green bean mixture over everything. She glanced behind her at the wine steaming on the stove.

 

“I brought some brandy, if you want some.” She gestured towards a small, glass bottle on the counter.

 

“Wine’s fine.” She poured that for him too, hot from the pot on the stove, before serving herself. She looked at him, seeming to wait.

 

“Thank you. Sansa.” Her name felt awkward on his tongue. He looked down at the food, avoiding her expectant gaze. She’d even taken out forks, and everything. He hadn’t eaten with a fork since well before the last time he’d had meat. He took his first bite slowly. 

 

“S’good.”

 

He spoke around his mouthful of the meat, as she seemed to be waiting for some silent signal to begin herself. At his words, she smiled that twitchy smile again, and took her own fork in hand. They ate without talking, only the sound of chewing and swallowing breaking the silence. It wasn't so bad, really. Christmas. If this was one. The rabbit was tender, and she must’ve mixed spices in somewhere. She might have even told him so. He couldn't help shoveling it down a little too quickly, mopping up the spare gravy with his bread. Even Sansa, usually so neat, had gravy dripping down her chin, as she ate with her eyes closed.

 

It was good, he thought. To see her smile like she had been. Even better, to be part of the reason. Even if it was only a small part.

 

The food vanished quickly, and somehow ate almost all of it. Sandor pulled the gravy bowl towards him, and wiped it out with a small piece of bread. She watched him, eyes half closed, before moving the candy bowl between the two of them. They traded out fishing chunks of chocolate out of the bowl, until it too was empty. They sat at the table for a long time. Sandor felt almost as though his mind were working in slow motion. He hadn't eaten his fill since the beginning of all this.

 

Sandor stood first, making his way towards the bedding. He felt comfortably warm with the food in his stomach, but that wouldn’t last forever. They could clean up tomorrow. Hell,  _ he _ should clean up tomorrow. She had cooked everything.

 

He eased himself down, kicking off his boots, and settling down on the cushions. He could hear her rustling around behind him, wrapping up the remnants of the panbread. He watched, through half-lidded eyes, as she moved into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. As she had for days now, she soon opened it again, dressed for sleep, and climbed onto her bed, sitting in the middle. A candle flickered on her bedside table. She undid her hair quickly, and he watched the light reflect on it, as it fell to the small of her back in loose waves. She took her time brushing it out, as she always did. He didn’t know what had prompted her to begin her little shows, but he asked no questions.

 

She moved the brush slowly through her hair, from the crown of her head, to the very end of each strand. He’d never seen a woman with hair like that before, so long, and colored that way. Marie had been a blonde. He watched as she braided back her hair, in just one loose plait down her back.

 

The blankets pulled over him slightly, as she lay down. She never looked at him after. Never spoke either, until after the candle was blown out. She didn’t blow it out tonight though. Just lay on her back for a moment, braid bunched under her neck, eyes closed. The lids looked almost translucent in the candlelight. She turned onto her side then, away from him. The movement splayed her braid out behind her somewhat, shadowed by her back, but still seeming to gleam. It was one things to watch her comb it out from a distance. It was quite another to have it here, within arms reach. Sandor reached out a hand, and stroked the very end of her braid, where the ends of her hair were curled loose.


	14. Chapter 14

Sansa wound the scarf around her mouth and throat, mimicking the way Sandor wore his. Not a necessity to be sure, not the way it was for him, but it would keep the cold out. It had snowed last night, no more than a few flurries. What slight coating had stuck to the ground was already melting under the weak glare of the sun. But still, Sandor had said they should go out today. When the snow really came, he said, driving would be difficult, and if they were unlucky, it would be damn near impossible before long.

 

She had her knife, secured to her forearm today. He’d made her the strap last night, out of the belt he’d collected, that she’d forgotten about after everything. His fingers had been brusque, but warm against her skin when he’d fastened it to her arm. He’d drawn her sleeve overtop of the weapon, and made her draw it a few times. She’d nicked the back of her hand twice in her efforts, and he’d shaken his head.

 

“It should be on the inside of your arm, really. Harder for someone to feel it that way, if they’re looking. But that’ll come later. With practice. Can’t have you slitting your wrists now, can we?”

 

She had the pistol as well, tucked into the front of her jeans, as Sandor carried his. It didn't feel safe, exactly, but they had no holsters. It would be best, according to Sandor. Sansa could feel the metal digging into her hip bone. She would have to adjust it later, when Sandor had his back to her.

 

She followed him down the path, keeping close as they made their way to the car. To her immense relief, they saw no Rotters. Her last attempt at killing one had not ended well, and she wouldn’t use the gun if she could help it. It wasn’t as though she had ever actually fired the thing, and the noise it made could bring more trouble than it solved.

 

She watched the back of Sandor’s head as he ducked into the driver’s side. She slid onto her seat, and wondered. Something had changed with him. He had been quiet since their attempt at a Christmas. Not that silence was all that unusual for him, but he hadn’t really spoken at all, except in necessary instruction, relaying information efficiently and perfuncturally. Any attempts she had made at conversation had been all but ignored, one-word answers being the best she could extract, when he answered at all. After awhile, she suspected he was doing that on purpose. He seemed to enjoy her frustration. She’d given up after a time, and just spoke herself, filling the room with the sound of her voice.

 

He’d been watching her though. Not just when she did her hair, but other times as well. Not that she could catch him at it. But she thought she could feel his eyes on her when she wasn’t looking. Or maybe she was imagining it.

 

Sansa shook her head a little, closing the car door hard behind her.

 

“Where to?” The scarf muffled her words slightly, and she loosened it about her face.

 

“Not Birmington again. We’ve been there three times now. I thought we’d go east, follow the signs. There were a few other towns around here.” He did not look at her as he spoke.

 

“You haven't been to any more around here, have you?”

 

She shook her head. They pulled out, Sandor having performed the usual ministrations to start the engine. Sansa wondered if he had known how to hotwire cars before all this. He always did it quickly enough. What did that say about his Before? Of course he could have learned After, the way he had learned snares.

 

Not that it really mattered, all things considered. She watched the road as they drove, shooting the occasional glance at him. He didn’t speak to her, but she hadn't expected him to.

 

“I used to draw.” She addressed his profile. He didn't turn his head, nor make any noise to show he was listening, as he sometimes did. She continued anyway.

 

“I could never draw  _ things. _ Do a still life I mean. I could draw people all right though.” She missed it. She didn't have the right supplies anymore. Some notebook paper was still there, and all her drawing pencils, but no sketchbook. She  _ could _ use the lined paper. She'd tried once, a few weeks into this whole mess. Robb had always had an easy face to draw, full of clean lines. But it hadn't been right. His eyes were too small, too blank looking. And it hurt that she didn't know of her image of him was right anymore. Maybe he had a beard now, or tattoos.

 

She looked over at Sandor. His scars would be hard, she thought, but she could do it. If he would let her. Sansa wouldn't ask though. The last time they, or rather he, had spoken of his face, it hadn't been her idea. It still hadn't ended well.

 

She shivered a little in her seat, and pulled further back into her parka hood. She realized that she'd trailed off, that the silence was stretching on, and cleared her throat slightly.

 

“I tried painting, but that didn't really work out.”

 

He didn't look over, or make any indication that he'd heard her speak at all. She fixed her eyes on the road, trying to force her mind to go blank.

 

They drove for what felt like a long time, Sandor following the signs to an unfamiliar town. He spoke for the first time since they'd left the house, still not looking at her.

 

“You didn't go through the houses back by us, did you?”

 

It took her a moment to realize what he meant. “No. I didn't know what would be in there. And I didn't want to risk it.” She hadn't known how to kill those things until he'd shown her. She'd only really killed one, the one that Sandor had held still for her. He'd handled at least a dozen since they'd met, that she had personally seen. And who knew how many that she hadn't.

 

“That's good. We can go after the roads are too bad to drive. Don't think too many people come through this way, so far from the main roads. There might be something left, something worth taking.”

 

Sansa nodded, though he couldn't see. “Ok.”

 

Sandor kept his silence after that, until they reached their goal. It was a small town, but larger than the college town they inhabited. If it could be called a town. He pulled up on the side of the street, at the edge of the crisscross of roads edging around the densest part of the abandoned town. He ducked out of the car, shutting the door softly behind him, and she followed suit. They couldn't help but make some noise as they extracted the cart from the backseat. Sansa winced, glancing around, but nothing moved.

 

Sansa took hold of the cart’s handle, pushing it in front of her. The wheels squeaked against the sidewalk.

 

She looked up at Sandor beside her. “Where to?”

 

He made a small motion, half shrug, part gesture to move forwards. She fell in behind him as they made their way forward, keeping close to the side of the buildings. The cart’s wheels squealed as Sansa pushed it along. She didn't know what Sandor was looking for. They passed a few shops and apartment buildings, small and grimy looking.

 

He stopped abruptly, and Sansa nearly rammed into the back of him with the cart. He was looking down a small alley, that had opened suddenly beside them. She turned to see what had caught his attention.

 

It was a cluster of three of  _ them _ , grouped together almost as though they had been in conversation. They turned slowly, to face them, mouths opening. Sansa swallowed past the lump that had grown in her throat. “We don’t have to-”

 

But Sandor was already moving, already pulling out his big knife. Sansa wanted to close her eyes, but she didn’t. It had smelled of cinnamon and pine. And cooking food. Now the coppery, rotting smell drove the memory of those scents back, and try as she might she could not bring them forward again. Sandor glanced back at her and gestured in front of him with his dripping knife, Sansa’s scarf darkly speckled over his mouth and chin. The hard lump in her throat seemed to have sunk lower, into her stomach. It curdled there, cold and bitter.

 

She glanced up at the door behind him, noting the broken sign above his head. A small deli, then. She wheeled the cart forward, and then settled it to the side when she saw the breadth of the doorway.

 

She nodded to Sandor, and reached for the door handle, but her caught her shoulder.

“What is it?” He was looking at her overtop of the scarf, eyes meeting hers for the first time today. They were bright, almost excited looking over the dirtied cloth. It reminded her of the first time they’d gone out together, of the angry, almost  _ eager _ way he’d gone for  _ them _ as the two of them had been leaving.

 

She shrugged, and looked at her feet, before raising her eyes once more. “It’s just-” The bitter lump seemed to grow larger, and sharp-edged in her belly. He hadn’t smiled before, with the wine in his hand and the smells all in the air, but his eyes had looked softer.

 

“It’s not fair.” The words burst out before she could stop them, and she cringed to hear them said so brazenly, like a child protesting bedtime.

 

“Little bird.”

 

He had taken her chin in hand, and from the look of his gloves, her scarf was now as befouled as his. “Was it ever?” 

 

He didn’t wait for an answer, just shouldered his way past her, ducking into the store. She followed slowly, hanging back as he performed his usual routine, knife still in hand. When they were satisfied, Sandor led the way behind the counter, Sansa trailing behind, eyes fixed on the back of his head. The dark hair had crept past his shoulders.

 

“Not like this.” He made no sign that he had heard her, did not turn to look.

 

She remembered to draw her knife as they progressed through the store, hissing slightly as the edge grazed the back of her wrist. Sandor looked over at the noise, and pulled her sleeve back. There was only a thin red line on her clammy skin, and she let out a sigh of relief. He did not need to tell her that the scent of fresh-spilled blood around her would not be a good idea.

 

The deli proves moderately fruitful, as does the gas station afterwards. They’ve just finished siphoning what fuel they can, topping up the van’s gas tank, when Sandor crouched beside her, putting his mouth close to her ear.

 

“I think we should stay here. Tonight.”

 

Sansa fumbled, nearly dropping the jars she was trying to load into the back. “What?”

 

She knew immediately that her voice was too loud, too carrying. Glancing around, Sandor thrust his armload of goods into the car, and climbed in himself, gesturing for her to follow. He closed the trunk, and the two of them crouched in the back of the van among their newly acquired supplies.

 

Sandor gestured around them. “This isn't enough.”

 

Sansa glanced around them, taking in the small heap of goods. “If you can catch something every now and again, and if we can go through the houses-”

 

She trailed off as he shook his head. “There’s too many fucking ‘ifs’ there for my liking. We need to be careful.”

 

Sansa bit her lip. “We can come back tomorrow.”

 

Sandor shook his head again. “Another ‘if’. We use all the daylight today, get everything we can. If the weather turns, we can try to drive back tonight or in the morning. It stays clear, we keep going tomorrow until we have all we can.” He was looking at her again. Sansa had almost forgotten how intense his stare could be, having been deprived of it for some time. She nodded, trying not to show her nervousness at the prospect of a night away from the house. She hadn’t done that in all this time.

 

He seemed to take her silence as aquesence, and ducked out of the car again, after a long look at the streets through the window. Sansa followed, the gun pinching against her hip as she unfolded from her crouch.

 

\------

 

The light was fading too early, and too quickly. The cart wasn’t full exactly, but it was heavy enough. Sansa hurried, struggling to keep up with Sandor. It had been too close, in her opinion. Maybe not in Sandor’s. He hadn’t seemed worried, even backed into a corner as they had been. The Rotters were dead now- or whatever you could call it, as they hadn’t exactly been living in the first place.

 

She started as Sandor took the cart from her, pushing her hands away from the bad and increasing their pace. Her ankle throbbed slightly as she hurried after him. They reached the van in good time, Sandor immediately beginning to unload the cart. Sansa glanced behind them, a little nervously. She had taken pains before, never to be out after dark. This new world was frightening enough in the daytime. She shifted a little closer to Sandor, turning her back to him and keeping her eyes on the street.

 

“Couldn’t we just put the cart in the back?”

 

He shook his head, “We’ll need the room.”

 

She glanced at the sun, low in the sky, but didn’t argue. Sandor lifted the empty cart, and turned it on it’s side. The wheels rotated slightly, making their metallic squeaking. Sansa shivered. They climbed in together, elbows jostling as they tried not to trample the supplies. The door closed behind them, and she couldn’t help but to let out a sigh of relief. The next few minutes were spent rustling around, shifting cans and jars, tring to create a comfortable cavity for sitting. They sat facing each other, sitting up against opposite sides of the van. Sandor’s legs were bent slightly at the knee, a booted foot on either side of Sansa. She sat hugging her knees, shifting on the hard flooring.

 

“Wouldn’t it be more comfortable in the front?”

 

Sandor groped past the seats, pulling a can out of the mess spilling over the seats and floor. “We don’t need to make it easier to be seen.” He didn't say by what.

 

Sansa glanced at the unmarked can in his hand. “Feel like a mystery?”

 

He snorted. “We’d have to eat them sometime.” He pulled off his gloves, and Sansa watched the dry, dark splatters on them crust off, flaking onto the van floor. He pulled the scarf down to his chin, and held out a hand to her. “Knife?”

 

She pulled it out, carefully, and passed it to him. She watched him jab it into the top of the can, before beginning to saw it around the edge. “We should have brought a can opener.”

 

He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll find another tomorrow.” 

 

Sansa watched the knife work its way around the edge. “I hope it’s oranges. Or maybe pears. You?”

 

He shrugged again. “Just not dog food.”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “Dog food?”

 

Sandor withdrew the knife, prying the lid open with the tip. She watched anxiously. “Well?” He looked up at her. “You’d know. It smells worse than it tastes.”

 

It’s stewed tomatoes, and they passed the can between them, sharing the food along with a small bottle of water. Sandor drank the juice afterwards without asking, and she slapped his hand away when he tried to reach inside afterwards. She pulled the can back towards herself, running her finger along the inside for any remains. It’s not enough, her growling stomach saying it’s far from it. That rabbit, and all that had gone with it, had spoiled her. It never felt like enough anymore, but now was when they would have to start tightening their belts all the more.

 

Sansa almost dropped the can when it pressed against the window. It was fully night now, and all she could see was the grimy teeth, the limp, black tongue, trying to reach them through the back window. She hadn’t realized that she’d moved, until she felt the slight pressure of Sandor’s hand on her boot. She couldn’t feel the warmth of him through the leather, but the pressure of his hand steadied her. She swallowed hard, and wrapped her free hand around the loose denim at his ankle. 

 

Sansa could see the Rotter’s mouth working, torn hands scrabbling against the window. She looked over at Sandor, a dark shape sitting across from her. He touched the knife at his hip, watching her. She shook her head firmly. He would  _ not _ be going out there, in the dark with that thing.

 

It seemed to take an age. By the time it wandered from the window, Sansa’s bare hands had gone numb, and she’d tucked her scarf over her nose again. The Rotter slowly moved around to the front of the van, bouncing slightly off the side mirror. The moonlight made it a dark silhouette, and Sansa watched as it slowly lurched across the street.

 

She let out her breath in a rush, letting her eyes slip close. “Thank the gods.” She was shivering, hard, in the cold. It could have stayed, standing lifelessly in one spot as so many did in the cold. “Why did it leave?”

 

“Maybe saw us move. Likely heard us.” Sandor’s voice rasped across the space between them, and Sansa unwrapped her hand from his jeans, flexing life back into her fingers.

 

“Couldn’t it smell us?”

 

“I don’t think so. They can smell blood, but not just people. From what I’ve seen.”

 

Sansa was glad of the dark, hiding the wetness on her cheeks. She made no move to dry her tears, less she give herself away. “We shouldn't have done it. Christmas.”

 

Sandor shifted across from her. “It was alright.”

 

“No. That’s not it.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “It just makes  _ this _ worse _. _ ”

 

He made no answer to that. Sansa let her head tip forward against her knees, rubbing her face roughly across them. The silence ticked onwards.

 

“You said gods.” Sandor’s voice was carefully neutral. She almost laughed. But it was the first unprompted comment he’d made over the past few days. “Yes. I used to like that stuff. Dead religions. I started thinking about that one again, after all this- this shit.”

 

He made no comment at her uncharacteristic curse, keeping his inquiring silence, boot resting against her hip. She continued, talking into her knees. “There were supposed to be seven gods. Or seven aspects of the same god. The Mother, the Maiden, the Crone-” She broke off for a moment, raising her head. She always forgot one. “Oh! The  _ Smith _ , the Warrior, the Father, and the Stranger.”

 

“What did they do?” 

 

Sansa smiled a little in the dark, feeling raw, and too open. “Are you talking again, then?” 

 

When he made no reply, she continued. “They mostly protected different people. You prayed to a different one, depending on what you were praying for. Pregnant women prayed to the Mother for healthy babies, virgins to the Maiden for good marriages. Craftspeople to the Smith, for success.”

 

She shifted, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. Her parka wasn’t keeping out all the cold. “It just seemed- more appropriate, I guess. I used to go to church, when I was younger. I tried praying, sometimes, but the last few years-” She broke off for a moment. It was strange, in this world of death, how her life with Joffrey could still seem so horrid. “It just felt like nobody was listening. And after all this, it felt good to pray to something. Maybe it helped that I never really believed it.”

 

The effort of his previous seven words seemed to have overwhelmed him, because Sandor said nothing. Just pulled out the blanket, stashed under the back seat, and rearranged the two of them to his liking. Pressed back to back, leaning against the seat, they wrapped the blanket tightly around them. It wasn’t enough to cover them properly, but it’ll have to do. Sandor’s warmth spread to Sansa as it always did, but under their little blanket, it wasn’t enough tonight.

 

“I don’t think I can get any sleep.” Sansa brushed irritably at the hair tickling her cheek, only to realize that it was Sandor’s.

 

“Try. We need focus tomorrow.” 

 

She wanted to turn, to make him look at her, but the blanket was too tight for that. “What if it comes back?”

 

She felt him shrug. “Then it comes back. It’s not getting in.” Sansa didn’t consider that a reassuring answer. She was about to say as much, when she heard him sigh. “I wouldn’t let it hurt you. You know I wouldn’t.” 

 

She did know that. His big shape was warm on her back, and she let herself lean into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wound up running much longer than I had anticipated- I had to cut it off earlier than I'd planned. Hopefully I can get the rest out soon!


	15. Chapter 15

It had been a cold, uncomfortable night, with sporadic patches of sleep. Sansa suspected Sandor had gotten no more sleep than she had; the limited space had to be even more uncomfortable for him. When the sun peeked over the horizon, Sansa moved clumsily to the front of the van, her body stiff and aching. Sandor joined her after a moment, with considerably more difficulty as he squeezed his body over and between the seats. She was glad he didn’t simply exit the car to reach his goal- she could see shuffling movement in the distance, through the windshield. It was too early for such things. Especially after last night.

 

When he’d settled beside her, stretching his legs out as best he could in the confined space, she offered him the water she’d been nursing. He took it, and swallowed some, taking small sips despite his dry, cracked lips.

 

“We can wash them out when we get back, refill them next time we need to,” Sansa offered. Her voice felt dry and unused. He regarded her for a moment, eyes bloodshot but alert, before taking a longer swallow. He passed the bottle back to her, and rested his head on the seat behind him, closing his eyes.

 

“So what’s the plan?” 

 

Sansa found herself whispering, despite the relative protection of the car. The morning air felt too still, as though any sound at all would carry too far.

 

Sandor did not whisper, but his voice was pitched low as he replied, eyes still shut. “We wait for the sun to come out proper. Then we keep going till we have enough to be getting on with.” He cracked his eyes open then,looking up at the sky through the smeared glass. “Looks like we've the weather for it.”

 

Sansa shifted uncomfortable in her seat. “I have to- I mean, how should we- you know. Out here.”

 

He was rummaging in his pocket, and he passed her a strip of jerky, already gnawing on one himself. “I figure we'll find a building, get behind a door.”

 

“Oh. Ok.” 

 

He glanced at her. “What, would you rather piss in the streets? With them after you?” He jerked a thumb at the jerky movements down the street.

 

“No, it's fine.” It just felt- disrespectful. To soil somebody's home like that. Silly, really. Considering that whoever lived there was most likely dead.

 

Sansa sucked on the jerky, trying to soften it in her mouth. It was hard as wood, and hurt her jaw to chew. Sandor made no conversation as they waited, as the sun rose higher. She wished he would say something. Make a distraction. She’d had strange dreams last night, as she’d slipped in and out of sleep. Cloaked figures swirling around her. And the statues. The ones she’d seen in the old sept that her class had visited, all those years ago. They’d lit candles, each child choosing a god to leave it for. Sansa had lit hers for the Maiden, feeling awfully romantic. Like a princess in one of the old stories. She had no sept now, but maybe she would light candle back at the house tonight, for luck. But not to the Maiden this time.

 

She spoke around the jerky in her mouth, turning to look at Sandor. “I was thinking. Maybe we could find a camping store or something. We should try to find more fuel, for the camping stove. Also- I think I need a bigger knife.” She gestured to her arm, where the sheathed blade was hidden under her sleeve.

 

He swallowed his mouthful, and glanced over at her. “Those kind of stores are almost always cleaned out. People went for them first. Better we go to another store, that has a hunting section.” He looked towards her wrist, where she was wrapping her hand around the knife hilt. “And you can get one of your kitchen knives when we go out next. You have some big ones.”

 

“Oh.” Sansa hadn’t thought of that, somehow. Some of her larger knives were almost as big as his. He knew she had those- had it slipped his mind as well? Somehow she doubted it. Sandor never seemed to miss much. Then why hadn’t he suggested she carry one before?

 

“You ready?” Sansa nodded, jaw working as she hastily finished her breakfast. They exited the car, Sansa holding back a groan as she arched her back in a hard stretch. Sandor was cracking his neck from side to side, watching the Rotters turn towards them. Sansa glanced around, but there seemed to be only three, coming down the street before them.

 

Sansa drew her little knife carefully, keeping the blade flat the way Sandor had shown her. She was gratified that the blade did not touch her skin this time.

 

“Should I-”

 

But Sandor was already moving, already drawing his own knife as he strode towards the three lutching bodies. Sansa hurried to follow, keeping a few feet back as he quickly dispatched them. She grimaced, as the last of the group fell to the ground, fingers pulling free of Sandor's jacket, where they had been latched.

 

She watched him scrub his knife clean before sheathing it at his hip once more.

 

“I'm going to have to learn to deal with them too, you know.”

 

“I know.” He scanned the street, gesturing to a likely looking corner store. “There.”

 

The drugstore was mercifully empty, and even contained two small bathrooms. They took it in turns to use them, the other watching the door. Sansa was grateful to avoid befouling some floor somewhere. Afterwards, they perused the shelves. There wasn't much here, but she felt her spirits lift slightly at the packets of candy. Sandor groped in the case behind the counter, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

 

“You smoke?”

 

He looked over at her. “No. But you never know.”

 

Tucking toiletries into her pockets, Sansa turned back to him. “Ready?”

 

He was looking at a nearly untouched shelf of coffee, and it look a moment for Sansa to realize why. They were all beans, unground.

 

“We can try and grind them up. Or maybe just soak them in hot water.”

 

He nodded, and scooped up a few bags. Sansa took more herself, filling her arms. They made their way back to the car unmolested, and retrieved the cart after dumping their finds into the van. She kept close behind him, as she had the previous day. They avoided the houses, and entered each store in turn. Some held supplies, some did not. Some had Rotters inside, and some were deserted. Sandor killed what Rotters they encountered, and Sansa pulled supplies into the cart.

 

As the morning wore on, Sansa grew worried. They were avoiding toiletries and the like; holding what space they had left for foodstuffs. But they had found less than Sansa had hoped.

 

Then, in a small bakery, they found it. Most of the spice jars had been smashed, and trodden into an unidentifiable sludge. But a box of salt and one of sugar remained, along with sacks and sacks of flour. Some of the sacks had burst, the flour molded, but a huge amount remained. There was even some yeast, and a small case of beer, which Sandor prompt claimed for himself. Not that Sansa minded.

 

It took several trips to tote it all back to the van. Sansa thought they would get  _ very _ tired of panbread, but food was food. After heaving the last of it into the van, Sandor glanced at the sky.

 

“We still have time. Come on.” 

 

They went back to the bakery, but found little else. Another bag of sugar, a tightly sealed container of very old looking nuts, and an unsealed jar of dried apples, which Sandor sniffed suspiciously before loading into the cart.

 

They unloaded the remainder of their find into the back, and Sansa turned back to Sandor. “Should we keep going?”

 

“No. It’s clouding up.” He was right; it was still early, but a thick sheet of clouds was obscuring the sky. 

 

“Ok.” She turned back to the cart before pausing. “The cart- it won’t fit.”

 

“I know. This is more important. We can always get another.”

 

That made sense. She began to make for the passenger side door, but Sandor didn't move to approach the car. “What?”

 

“Before we go.” He walked slowly towards her. “It’s about time you had some proper practice.” He was pointing towards her midriff. She felt the pistol digging into her hip, despite her undershirt tucked beneath it.

 

Sansa licked her lips. “I don’t think-”

 

“You don’t think now? When?” She let out a hard breath through her nose, and pulled out the gun, fumbling it slightly as she yanked it from under her wrappings. 

 

“You’ll have to practice that too.” Sandor stepped to the side, and gestured towards the end of the street where they’d parked. A limping figure was lurching across an intersection, turning slowly towards them. Sansa swallowed hard, and began to walk towards it, but he grabbed her by the arm.

 

“ _ What? _ ” 

 

“Stay by the car. We’ll have to leave right after. Actually-” He slid half into the driver’s seat, fiddling around to start the car.

 

Sansa held the gun in both hands, alternating between watching the Rotter slowly approach, and glancing back at Sandor. “It’s too far away. I won’t get it clean.”

 

“Good. More practice.” The car had started up, and the shambling corpse began to move more quickly, although still not very fast.

 

“Won’t I be wasting bullets?”

 

“Better to waste them now than miss when you need to. Stop talking and shoot.”

 

He was by her side now, knife drawn. She let out a shaky breath, and clicked the safety off.  _ Breath out when you fire. Aim too low. Hold it firmly. Close one eye. _

 

Closing one eye, she took a deep breath, aimed, and squeezed the trigger as she breathed out, hard. The crack of the gun took her by surprise, the echos reverberating off of the brick walls on either side of her. Her ears rang with the force of the sound. Her wrists jerked up, as Sandor had said they would. 

 

The Rotter shambled on, coming closer. She looked up at Sandor, and he gestured to the oncoming figure. “Don’t look at  _ me. _ Fucking shoot.”

 

She swung her gaze back to the street in front of her. To her alarm, another figure was shuffling around a distant corner. She fired again, with no result. Gripping the gun she took a steadying breath, heart pounding hard, and fired once more. This time, the Rotter stumbled, a strip of flesh torn from the side of its neck. It opened its mouth, letting out one of those horrible gurgling hisses, and she squeezed the trigger. To her surprise, a spray of dark blood came from its head, and it collapsed.

 

“I did it! I got it.” She looked over at Sandor again, only to see him watching the street behind them carefully. 

 

“Good. Do it again.”

 

She raised the gun quickly, and directed it towards the oncoming figure. She pulled the trigger too soon, without aiming properly, and she saw the bullet hit the window of the car behind the thing. She glanced at Sandor again, but he wasn’t watching her, was moving towards the van. What if she hit a gas tank or something? What of she- what if-”

 

_ Stop thinking so much. _

 

Trying hard to steady her hands, Sansa aimed carefully, and pulled the trigger again. The bullet must have grazed it, because it toppled over, still twitching and jerking, like a puppet with a string cut. Glancing around, she saw no more coming. Turning, she saw Sandor approaching one coming from the other direction, knife drawn.

 

Turning her gaze back towards the twitching figure, she approached quickly, the sound of her boots on the asphalt muffled by the ringing in her ears. It opened its mouth as she approached, a garbled croak emerging. It might have been a pretty woman, once-upon-a-time, judging by the bottle blonde hair and engagement ring. 

 

_ Quick and clean. _

 

She brought her arms up sharply. The bullet punched through the greying forehead, staining that bright hair black. Sansa lowered her arms slowly, staring at the bullet hole in the corpse’s head. She’d made that.

 

Glancing up, Sansa saw two more moving towards her, closer than she’d like. Her first shot tore a chunk out of one’s arm, but they moved closer, relentless, and Sansa backed away. How many bullets did this gun hold? How many had she used?

 

“Sandor?”

 

“Come on.” She heard the car door slam, and made one last shot, missing entirely, before sprinting for the van. She clicked the safety on, ducked in, and they sped off.

 

Sansa sucked her breath in, hard, as she saw the strangling line of  _ them, _ moving down the main road. They passed a few as they turned onto the road home too, all heading towards the town.

 

“You see why that’s a last resort?” Sandor’s voice was rough. He _ ’ _ d shoved his knife at her, covered in black blood, when she’d gotten in. She put it by her feet now. There would be time for that later.

 

“Yes.” They drove in silence for a time. Sansa turned the gun in her hand, feeling the weight press into her palm. It was a beautiful, terrible thing.

 

“Why do you like it?”

 

He didn’t ask what she meant. Didn’t answer at all, at first. But she didn’t get the feeling that he was ignoring her. Just thinking.

 

He glanced over at her, grey eyes hard. “Ever punch a wall?”

 

“No.” But she understood that feeling. The strangled helplessness had made her angry at herself. “Did you punch walls? Before?”

 

“Sometimes. Sometimes people.”

 

She had no reply for that. The growl of the car filled the silence, and Sansa found her thoughts drifting back to her dreams. She hoped they wouldn’t continue tonight. They’d confused, and unsettled her.

 

“You look like the Stranger, you know.” Oh. She hadn’t meant to say that.

 

“Do I now.” His eyes stayed on the road. “Which one was he? God of fire?” He barked out a laugh.

 

“Of death, actually. Sort of. He was supposed to lead the dead to the Other World. Underworld. Something along those lines.”

 

Sandor grunted at that. She couldn’t be sure, but he looked almost pleased. She should have said, really, that he looked like the Warrior. But that wasn’t right. The Warrior was supposed to be a tall, strong man, but the images Sansa had seen looked small and slight in comparison to Sandor.

 

She’d never been one to read up on the Stranger. She’d seen pictures though, in her books- ‘he’, although he wasn’t really man nor woman, was always cloaked in the images. Sometimes, he was depicted as beastly, animalistic. She’d never liked those pictures, glancing at them with a sick fascination before flipping hurriedly away.

 

The one that had prompted her comment had always stood out in her mind, when she thought about the Stranger. She’d only seen it once, but the image of the painting had stuck. There had been a figure on the ground in front of him, cringing, hands raised as though in protection, or supplication. The Stranger had been very tall, but maybe that was just in comparison with the huddled person on the ground. What had really made it stand out was the face. The fact that a face was shown at all made it prominent, as most depictions showed only the glimpse of an animal-like snout, or shrouded the face entirely.

 

But a very human jaw had been visible under the dark cloak, square and masculine. The mouth had been thin, and cruel looking. The picture had frightened her at the time. But now- maybe now, the Stranger was the one to pray to, out of all of them. It was he who came for the dead, who could stop all this. 

 

Maybe. If you believed such things.

 

Sansa glanced at Sandor, took in his sharp features. “Do we have enough? For the winter?”

 

“Probably. With all the flour.”

 

“I guess nobody else wanted that. You can’t carry a stove on your back.” She shifted against the seat, and looked down at the gun in her hand. It gleamed in the light. Sandor had been a thorough teacher- she cleaned it every day, regardless of use. It bothered her a little, that she’d felt a thrill at killing the two Rotters. At the thought that they’d been put down by she and she alone. But only a little.

 

Maybe she would pray to the Stranger tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: with the exception of what I remember off the top of my head, any lore, religion, or stories will be fabricated entirely by me. So please forgive any inaccuracies.


	16. Chapter 16

It was snowing again. It had been doing that more and more often lately. Sansa tilted her head back against the sofa frame to watch through the skylight, Sandor a warm shape beside her. The pair of them rarely got up these days. With the cold, it made more sense to stay huddled together under the blankets. The snow was gathering slightly on the glass.

 

Sansa glanced over at Sandor. “Bucket?”

 

He huffed a breath out through his nose, but it was his turn and he knew it. She watched him roll to his feet, pull on his jacket and gloves, and head to the bathroom. She missed his warmth under the blankets, but was glad it was he doing the chore and not she. The coffee was cold when she sipped it, as it had been for hours. The panbread was dry and flavorless, but it was something to put into her mouth, something to break the monotony. It was the last of what they’d made several days back. They'd taken to making large batches, to save on gas.

 

Sansa turned her head, watching as Sandor shoved on his boots, not bothering with the laces, and took the bucket outside. The gust of cold air had her wrapping the blankets tighter over her shoulders, trying to preserve the warmth they had created. The door closed behind him, and Sansa turned back to her cold coffee. The coffee beans hadn’t worked as well as she had hoped, but it was better than nothing. She thought she might try pan frying some, to mix with the bread. Or something. The salt they’d found had helped with the flavor, but not by much.

 

Sandor stomped his way back in, shedding snow from his booted feet. He’d only been out for a moment, but snow had accumulated on his hat and shoulders.

 

“We’ll have to shovel soon.” They didn’t have a real shovel, but they’d improvised with a combination of items, with varying success. Sandor insisted on a clear path to the gate and one to the stream, though they’d been taking in snow for water lately. He said he liked to see where he was putting his feet, and on what. Sansa couldn’t blame him.

 

Sansa hummed, watching as he replaced the bucket and removed his gloves. “Tomorrow?”

 

“Sure.” Shedding his coat, he rejoined her under the blankets. She dipped a corner of bread into the coffee, and held it in her mouth for a long time before swallowing.

 

“When would you say it is now?”

 

“What?” He’d pulled his hat over his eyes, and was rubbing his hands together under the comforter.

 

“The date, I mean.”

 

“How would I know? Didn’t you keep track of that?”

 

She shrugged, pulling up the blanket as it slipped from her shoulder. “I used to. I had a calendar, and everything. But I stopped keeping track properly. Before I met you. There just didn't seem to be a point. I’d try to catch up every now and again, but I don't know if I was right. It wouldn’t matter for now anyway.”

 

He pushed the hat back up on his forehead, and glanced over at her. “New year?”

 

She nodded. “I think so.” She chuckled a little under her breath. “Happy new year.” The silence carried on for a while. Sansa watched her breath mist in front of her. She’d used to try and make smoke rings like that when she was younger, like Grandpa could with his pipe.

 

“What were you doing? Last year?”

 

Sandor shifted next to her, pulling the covers up further. Sitting as close to him as she was, it covered her face entirely. It took some shifting and shoving at various wrappings to situate them both comfortably. Sandor replied as he settled back down on the cushions.

 

“Don’t remember. Probably in a bar somewhere. You?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” It was quiet the the room, the sort of quiet that could only occur in the winter. Crystalline, cold, and somehow muffled.

 

She knew he was looking at her, but didn’t meet his gaze. Sipping the weak coffee, Sansa missed her tea bags.

 

“You should get it out.” Sansa wondered if she should pretend ignorance at his meaning. It seemed like an easy solution. Before she could decide, he continued. “You know what I mean. You don’t talk about it. Sober.” He snorted. “You talk about damn near everything else. I know you think about it. So talk.”

 

She couldn’t help but scoff at that. “Because that’s worked so well before?” She rubbed at the back of her neck before nesting her hand in the warmth of the covers.

 

“Have you ever told anyone?”

 

Sansa turned to look at him. “That’s not what I _meant._ ” He didn’t answer, just looked at her, face blank.

 

“No. I haven't. I didn’t get the chance. I only left a few weeks before all this.” She tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite come. “Should we get the vodka then?”

 

He didn't return her smile. “If you want.”

 

“It’s fine.” She stirred a finger through her cold coffee, sucking it clean afterwards. Sandor waited, in his usual silence. It was an expectant silence though, which Sansa supposed was only fair. It wasn’t as though she knew nothing about _him_.

 

“I haven't spoken with my family in-” She thought for a moment. “More than three years now.” Sandor’s expression did not change. She guessed he might have inferred that. She had spent an awfully long time talking about them, and all her stories stopped in high school.

 

She let the silence hang for a few minutes. It was harder than she’d thought to say the words. It would be easier to tell him the end than the beginning- at least she was proud of that, in a way.

 

“Father died right after I finished high school. It was really sudden, a heart attack. He was only fifty-three.” They’d just had his birthday a month back. Sandor didn't apologize, as so many people had done when Sansa had told them. Oddly enough, she was glad for it. He hadn’t known Father. He had nothing to be sorry for.

 

“Anyway, all his old friends came to the funeral. And Robert Baratheon came with his family. And I met Joffrey.” Sansa grimaced. “I don’t know. Just, after I met him I thought I loved him. I went out with him a lot, to all these different places. Cersei started inviting me to these parties she had. With all sorts of rich people, and I guess I liked that. But Mother didn’t. She said I should be home with my family. With my little brother and sister.”

 

She gulped down a too-large mouthful off coffee, and it almost hurt going down. “She stopped letting me see him so much, and I was upset. And then he said- he said I should move in. I was eighteen, and they couldn't make me do anything. So I did. Then he said I shouldn’t talk to them, shouldn’t let them interfere with us. So I did that too.”

 

It sounded awful, laid out like this. She’d known it was, had turned it over in her own head often enough, but to hear it said so baldly- “It was an awful thing to do.” She could feel tears welling up, and fought them back. “I should never have done it.”

 

“Did they try to see you- any of them?”

 

Sansa could feel her nose clogging. “Yeah. For a long time. But they never let them in, and Cersei had got me a new phone by then. I didn’t have their numbers, and they didn't have mine. And Mom was already planning to move. She and Father had bought the house together, and she’d said she couldn’t live there anymore.”

 

She thought she’d gotten past the worst of it. The words were coming easier now. “I was _happy_ at first. I got a whole wing of rooms in the big house, and they moved me to even bigger apartments, once Robert died. And I saw Joffrey almost every day. But after a few months, it was like- like he changed. Or maybe I just started looking better. Or maybe he just stopped trying, because I was already there. I don’t know. But you can guess the rest.”

 

“Not really.” Sandor took some of her panbread without asking, but he was welcome to it. They’d been eating it for three days, and it stuck in her throat. “I wasn’t there much after you came, I think. Saw you going to the car a few times. Heard them say some girl was moving in. That was when I left.”

 

They way he said it made it seem as though the two incidences were connected somehow. “I know you can guess. You pretty much lived with him for seven years. You have to know.” She wouldn’t say it, not that. She had an inkling that she’d told him some already, though she couldn’t remember what exactly. Maybe something to drink wouldn’t be a bad idea after all. But it was cold, and she didn’t want to leave the covers to get the bottle. And Sandor’s form beside her was comforting, in a way.

 

“But, yeah. New year’s. That was when I decided I could leave.” Sandor made a slight noise beside her, like half-grunt, half-sigh. Sansa took it as encouragement, and continued. “There was this party, and he was showing off for our friends. His friends, really. And was talking about money. And he made some stupid joke that he’d bought _me_. And I knew he thought it was so funny because he thought that he had. Bought me. He knew I didn’t have any money. Well, I thought right then that he wouldn’t have me forever. I must have been sort of thinking it in the back of my head for a while, because the thought came right away. I knew I’d have money. When my birthday came that summer, when I turned twenty-one, I’d get my trust fund. It all got set up after dad died, part of the inheritance. Family money, you know. My brothers and sister, we were the last Starks left.”

 

This last made her pause. She cleared her throat roughly, and continued. “I hadn’t told Joff because I didn’t know about it at first. I got a call from the bank, months after. And I was starting to realize, so I just kept it to myself. Sort of forgot about it, ‘till last year. And that was what happened. That's what I did.” Sansa was curling the end of a braid around her finger. She’d done them in long pigtails today, covering her ears. “I’d already applied here, and I came to look at dorms. But I saw the house. And I had the money.” She was babbling a little, she knew, and cut herself off at that.

 

Sandor’s eyes were fixed on her, looking a little skeptical. She had the feeling he knew that she was leaving some things out. But he didn’t need to know about the night of her birthday, when they’d had the party. It had been too easy to make Joff angry, and she’d been pushing him all night. Little things, but lots of them. And later, when they’d been alone-

 

Sansa closed her eyes, hair wound tight around her finger.

 

He didn’t need to know about that. And she didn’t need to tell it. Sansa had done her best to erase the details from her mind. She’d taken the pictures, as she meant to. She supposed Cersei had gotten her email, because no one had gone after her when she hadn’t come back. Sansa had burned those pictures months ago, without opening the large envelope she’d stored them in. It didn’t matter anymore. He was dead.

 

She realized that she was staring blankly at the wall. She blinked and shook her head, nursing the coffee again. Sandor was silent beside her. Her skin felt suddenly sensitive, itchy under all her layers. She put down the mug, and crossed her arms hard over her chest to try and rid herself of the sensation.

 

“I know it’s not as bad. As what happened with you.” She kept her eyes fixed on that skylight. The sky was a flat, dull-looking grey, nearly obscured by the swirling snow. The flakes looked to be getting fatter, wetter maybe.

 

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t- it’s not good. Doesn't matter about me.”

 

“I think it matters.”

 

Before she could lose her nerve, she shifted over sideways, pressing her side against his. She could feel the tension in his body as she leaned into the side of his shoulder, leg pressed hip to thigh with his. But he didn’t move away. She thought he might have leaned into her too. Just a little.

 

“Tell me something.” Pressed this close, she imagined she could feel the rumble of his voice. But that was unlikely, through all the layers.

 

“What?”

 

“Something. Something better.”

 

“I don’t know.” But she did. The expectant silence came again. She thought she could ignore it. It would be easy to, like this. Warm, and padded with all his shirts, Sandor made a comfortable support. But she wanted to rid the herself of Joffrey, of the memory of his hands on her. So much for the talking, all that had done was remind her. But then, she hadn’t told all, had she. She wondered if Sandor had. Sansa suspected not. There were always things a person had to hold back, whatever they were.

 

“Just- just don’t laugh.”

 

“I won’t laugh, little bird. Sansa. Go on.”

 

She cleared her throat, and surreptitiously wiped her nose on the sheet. She needed to wash them soon anyway.

 

“It’s a sort of fairy tale. Part of the lore around the gods I told you about.” One of many, but it had been a childhood favorite. The story had actually launched her interest in the gods- they’d read it in class as a preface to the ancient religion section. Sansa had been maybe eleven, or twelve.

 

“There were these lovers. Only they weren't lovers in the beginning. Florian and Jonquil.” Sansa paused, but when Sandor kept his silence she continued.

 

“Florian was Florian the Fool. A great knight. Some said that he had the Warrior’s favor. He wasn’t very big, and he wore armor made to look like a jester’s motley, but he became very famous for his skills. So he was respected, but also sort of a joke, because of his armor.”

 

Sandor spoke against her. “Why did he call himself a fool then, if he wanted to be respected?”

 

Sansa shrugged. “I don’t remember. I think it had something to do with a woman he’d loved when he was young, or something like that. I know he really was a jester for a while, but I don't know if that was before or after he got his name. I know it was before he met Jonquil. Why did you let _them_ call _you_ dog?”

 

She could feel that he hadn’t expected that. But she didn’t think he was angry; his silence wasn’t that sort. “Because they could fire me whenever they wanted. And it was good money for easy work.” He paused, but Sansa waited. After a moment, he added ”And I like dogs better than most people, anyway.”

 

Sansa felt her lips quirk. “Did you have them? Dogs?”

 

Sandor leaned his head back on the couch. “Are you going to tell the bloody story or not?”

 

He didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic about learning more about Florian and Jonquil, but Sansa continued anyway. “Well, Florian saw Jonquil bathing in a pool, with her sisters. And Florian fell in love with her.”

 

Sandor grunted. “Love. Right.”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s how the story went. And after, he went to her, and put his sword at her feet. He asked her to marry him, but she said she couldn’t; she was already betrothed to this lord. Anyway, he eventually wins her over, and sneaks into her castle dressed as a real jester to see her. And they eloped before she could marry her lord.”

 

Sansa had always thought this very romantic in her youth, although she’d liked the illustrations much better when Florian had been depicted with his helmet on. He was not supposed to be a handsome man. But it was easy to forget that, as a young girl reading the story.

 

“And her parents were angry, that she’d defied them and run away. And her father sent men after them, to bring his daughter back, and make her a widow by killing her new husband. But Florian defeated them all. Then Jonquil’s mother had this vision. The Maiden came to her in a dream, and blessed the pair. So Jonquil’s parents had to accept them, and they came back.”

 

“That’s it?” Sandor didn’t sound bored, but clearly wasn’t enthralled either. Sansa had warmed to the tale anyway, and was glad of the chance to share it. What she could remember of it, anyway.

 

“Not really. They had adventures, while they were running away from her father’s men, and Florian became even more famous. But they had twelve children after, when they went back to the castle. Florian was said to have been a very lucky man, because his wife had been blessed by both the Maiden and the Mother; the Maiden for her marriage blessing, the Mother for her children.”

 

Sandor sat beside her, and the silence felt companionable this time. Sansa hadn’t shifted away from him, although her leg was caught at an awkward angle.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He made no reply. But under the warmth of the blankets, his hand found her knee. Sansa tipped her head back. The skylight was half covered now, the shadowed whiteness of the snow making a thick coat. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warm pressure on her knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really brings into context how much this story has grown from my original intent. I'd planned for a conversation something like this to go into chapter five or six, but well....shit happens. Hopefully, enjoyable shit in this case :)


	17. Chapter 17

Sansa kept watch out the window, as the pan heated. The snow had not become as  deep as she’d feared, but it was deeper than she thought comfortable. It was flurrying now, only a few flakes drifting to the ground. Sandor had not suggested going out to search what few townhouses their were, and she was grateful for it. The thought of walking through the woods with her feet sinking into the snow, where  _ anything _ might lie covered made her nervous.

 

She turned back to the stove, where Sandor was mixing the flour and water. It would be a little sweet this time; Sansa had added some of their sugar to the mix. She and Sandor huddled close over the stove as they cooked the batch, his proximity pleasant. She always looked forward to cooking days. The warmth rising from the pan was a treat, and the hot bread even better.

 

Sansa broke away as he placed the last batch in the pan and began to rifle through their cabinets. They’d begun a tradition of opening a can or jar of something when they made fresh bread. The condensed milk would go nicely with the sweetened batch, she thought. That and the flour were all they had an abundance of. She was running out of ways to eat the stuff. And they could finish the last little bits of the strawberry jam they’d opened last week. She pulled out a tin of corned beef for contrast, as a treat. She showed it to Sandor, and he grunted his approval.

 

She turned back to the stove to watch him scrape the last of the bread onto the plate. They took the lot back to their cushions, and pulled the blankets up over their legs. He pushed the steaming plate under the covers, trying to preserve its warmth. Sansa took her own portion quickly, and rolled some of the meat in the middle, like a dumpling. The savory meat made an interesting contrast with the semi-sweet bread. They ate quickly, finishing off the jam and most of the corned beef. The warmth settled into her stomach, and it felt good. 

 

Before the heat in her gut could fade, Sansa wriggled out of the covers and hurried to her room. She selected a bottle of rum, as she knew Sandor had a taste for it. He raised an eyebrow as she returned, and she shrugged, slipping under the thick layer of blankets again. The bread had gone cold, but Sansa had no wish for more anyway. She felt comfortably satisfied. They put the rest of it aside, to be eaten over the next few days, along with the unopened can of milk.

 

Sansa struggled with the cap on the bottle for a moment, before conceding defeat and handing it to Sandor. He opened it easily enough, claiming the first swig for himself. They passed the bottle back and forth for a time, before Sansa set it aside. She trusted to Sandor’s constitution that his swigs matched her sips in effect. It would not do to get too drunk. It would be difficult and uncomfortable to wash their blankets in this cold. She’d announced her intention to do so about a week back, and Sandor had just stared at her, reminding her that they’d freeze instead of dry.

 

“So.” She tipped her head back against the sofa.

 

He looked at her.

 

“What was your favorite subject? In school?”

 

He snorted. “ _ That’s _ what you're trying to get me drunk for? Shit like that?”

 

She shrugged. “What else? It’s something. And I'm _not_ trying to get you drunk.”

 

“I didn’t have one. You?”

 

“English. But that was mostly because I wasn’t good at math and I didn’t really like science.” He was looking at the bottle, but made no move to reach for it. “And I had friends in that class.  I liked history well enough, though” She stopped herself before she could start to ramble. She wanted to talk, today. Talking that included both of them. “Where were you? When all this happened. I was right here.”

 

“My apartment. In Ashford.”

 

“That’s a proper big city.  _ Properly _ a city, I mean.” She had been listening to Sandor talk more often of late. Some of it must be rubbing off on her. Mother had always encouraged proper speaking in all her children. “So how’d you get out?”

 

“I was lucky. I saw shit going down, and knew it was just a matter of time. I left before the riots started and the military came in. Knew a guy who lived a ways outside the city. He knew I had guns, and that I’d bring them. So he was alright with me coming around. Neither of us was stupid enough to try and drive away; way the highways were.”

 

“How were the highways? Why was it stupid to try to leave that way?” It was what  _ Sansa _ would have done, if she had a car. And knew how to drive.

 

“Well, everyone had the idea to leave all at once, didn't they? Everything got clogged up. You look at half the highways now, all the cars are still there. Lot of the people still in them. Did them loads of good, eh?”

 

“So you lived in Ashford. That’s pretty far from King’s Landing, isn’t it?”

 

He made no comment on her abrupt change of subject. “‘Course. Had no reason to stick around after I quit, and rent was expensive as fuck down there. Went someplace cheaper.”

 

“What did you do there?” She didn’t know why exactly, but she was warming to their conversation, and not just as a combat to boredom. There was something about his voice that she liked, something in the rumble of it. She knew how that felt now, the rumble of his voice in his chest. He still maintained a distance while they slept, but she’d taken to leaning up against him in their waking hours. He never initiated contact, but he didn’t seem to dislike it. She scooted over to him now, taking the bottle with her. It wasn’t quite so bone-chillingly cold today, and both had removed their coats once they’d returned to the warmth of the covers. He wasn’t quite so soft a cushion as usual, in the jacket’s absence. But she didn't mind.

 

She unscrewed the bottle cap again as he answered, enjoying the rumble against her side.

 

“Construction, bit of security. Shit like that. Bounced around some. Worked a garage for a while.”

 

“I didn’t know you were a mechanic.” The rum burned going down, but she was used to that now. He took the bottle, and she watched as he took a sip rather than his usual swig. 

 

“First car barely ran. Couldn’t afford to have it fixed all the time, so I learned. Was never the best. But it’s damn useful now.” He was closely studying the bottle. Sansa wondered if it affected him at all, to have her pressed close without the padding of their thick jackets. The thought sent prickles up her spine.

 

She leaned to the side, easing her body at an angle away from him, although keeping her calf pressed against his knee. He watched her, surely knowing by now what was coming. She’d been using her comb lately, the better to draw it out. Sandor watched, as he always did when she combed out her hair. He was close enough that her hand nearly brushed him at times, with her movements.

 

“Go on.” She didn’t think he was really listening to his own words as he described the car, a rusty old two-seater. The comb felt nice against her scalp, through her hair felt heavy and greasy. She would have to wash it soon, despite the cold.

 

Sandor had lapsed into silence, and she thought it unnecessary to continue to force the conversation. He was drinking from the bottle again, back to his customary swigs, eyes on her. She enjoyed the feeling, enjoyed feeling  _ wanted _ in some way. It had been too long since she’d felt that, and his gaze made her forget that she was unwashed and greasy, wearing the same stale clothes she’d put on earlier in the week.

 

She put her comb aside, heart beating a little fast. She’d been wondering about this for a while. The rum helped a little. She left her hair loose, and lay down, curling on her side in the position she customarily adopted for sleep. Of course it was too early for that. Sandor would still be watching, she thought. She always braided or otherwise put up her hair after a combing, he knew that. He watched that every day.

 

Sansa lay, hair fanned out behind her, her back to Sandor. She heard the swish of liquid as he took another swig. She wished she could have some too, but had no desire to sit up. He stilled as she twisted around, reaching behind her. She could see the bottle half lowered, his hand having frozen in its decent. She reached for his free hand, hanging loosely at his side where she’d been tucked only a moment ago. He made no resistance as she grasped it, pulling it towards her. Her eyes flickered to his face, finding it unreadable.

 

She rolled back to her former position, tugging his hand to the top her her head. It was very warm, but he made no movements. His hand felt larger than she had thought now that she had it pressed against her scalp, cupping the top of her head and curving ‘round the back. When she released it, tucking her hands back under the covers, his fingers twitched against her. But he didn’t move.

 

Why wouldn’t he? They hadn’t discussed it exactly, but she knew he liked her hair, if nothing else. He watched her comb it out daily, sometimes several times a day, always sitting back to watch with the air of seeing an anticipated show. So why wasn't his hand moving in her hair? Why wouldn't he take what she was offering, what she had hoped would be a pleasure for them both?

 

It felt like a stalemate, his hand not moving, and she facing away from him. Neither spoke for a long while.

 

Then, his hand lifted from her hair, and she worried she’d made a mistake, had misread his interest. He grasped her arm, not pulling her up exactly, but certainly tugging until she sat up herself. The look on his face was odd. Almost angry.

 

“What do you  _ want _ ?”

 

“Nothing.” She had only wanted the press of his fingers in her hair, a bit more of the contact that she’d begun to crave. It felt good to press against his side in the cold, to touch, and she wanted to be touched in return. It was not such a bad thing. She almost felt a little hurt.

 

His hand was still on her arm, and tightened at her declaration. “Bullshit.  _ What _ do you  _ want?” _

 

He tugged her closer, so that she was forced to kneel between his thighs where they were loosely spread under the blankets. She herself was half caught in the covers, and would have toppled over but for the grip on her arm. His other hand had released the bottle, and had tangled in her hair, grasping the nape of her neck. His grip was rough, but not painful. She wondered if he was trying to scare her by holding her so. To remind her of what he’d done.

 

What did she want? She wasn’t sure she knew. But he was warm, and large, and close. Even if the look on his face wasn’t quite what she’d hoped for. When she didn’t answer, he tugged her even closer, tilting his face slightly to showcase his scars.

 

Did he think they frightened her, after all this time? That they ever had? She’d seen worse, a hundred times over. It had been  _ he  _ who had scared her, and that was over with. He’d never hurt her now. She was sure of that.

 

Even so, it was difficult to meet his eyes. The realization stiffened her some, put a little fire in her spine. What did she have to be ashamed of? She looked up meet the challenge in his eyes. He tugged her even closer, their faces inches apart.

 

She would  _ not _ be cowed. He couldn’t frighten her, not anymore. She leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his without breaking his gaze.

 

His eyes went wide, as though he hadn’t really expected her to rise to his challenge. His lips were still against hers, and his hands went slack on her throat and arm. She pulled back, studying him. His face had been open for a moment, in his shock, but she could see him closing in again, see that barrier drop behind his eyes.

 

_ Oh no you don’t. _

 

She leaned in again, and this time he met her halfway. It was something like kissing a hurricane. His mouth was hard and demanding under hers, and she could feel the roughness of the scars against her lips. His hands seemed to be everywhere; in her hair, cupping the back of her head, around her waist, gripping her hips- one arm looped over shoulder, fingers tangled in her hair. The other slipped to the small of her back, and then lower. She gasped, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, hot, wet, and demanding.

 

She could feel him, hard against her thigh as he fumbled at her belt. She felt greedy as she pressed her body against his, seeking the warmth and firm skin under his layers.  _ This _ was good, this felt right.

 

She laughed into his shoulder as he cursed, frustrated by her buckle, and that only seemed to spur him on the more. She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and  _ felt. _

 

\------

 

It was fully dark when she came back to herself, their candle having gone out at some point. Sandor was still panting, cloth rustling as he adjusted his clothing. She supposed she ought to do the same. But she was comfortable where she was. He pulled away, rolling to the side, and throwing off the blankets as he padded to the kitchen. The rush of cold pushed away her sleepy satisfaction, and she wriggled further under them, flipping the edge down where Sandor had pushed it up. She watched his dark silhouette, as he scooped some water into a fresh mug from the pot. She could hear the skim of ice on the top shatter.

 

Where  _ had _ that come from, exactly? They had both had wanted it, there was no doubt about that. Neither had pushed the other away, or said no. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. She’d welcomed his touch, had kissed him first, beginning the whole affair.

 

Would this change anything? She’d been enjoying the camaraderie that had developed between them, enjoyed the conversation that Sandor had finally consented to having. Would he be as- as  _ friendly _ , if that was a word one could apply to Sandor, now that he’d gotten this? No. He wasn’t that sort of man, to try and trick her into it. And he’d been as surprised as she by her sudden advances. Even more so judging by the look on his face when she’d kissed him. The way he’d looked at her then- she couldn’t quite identify it, but there had been something there. Shock, yes, but something else too.

 

His return shook her out of his thoughts, and the touch of the cold, wet cloth against her bare skin where he pulled the covers down made her jump. She pushed the offending touch away, although she allowed him to thoroughly wipe her hands.

 

“Just that. I’m fine.”

 

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He moved to the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. Absurd really, considering what they’d just done. Of course, maybe he was doing something else as well.

 

She shivered, covering herself again, and pulling her sweaters down over her stomach. She removed her belt altogether, fastening her jeans. She really needed to wash some things, despite the cold. Jeans were not comfortable to sleep in, and Sandor’s limited selection had to be growing ripe. Not that she noticed that, around him day and night as she was.

 

He emerged from the bathroom just then, and took his customary place next to her. Sansa rolled onto her back, letting her legs slip to the hard floor. Was this how it would play out? Pretend it had never happened? Could she  _ do  _ that?

 

Sansa was struggling for words when he spoke.

 

“So. How’s this going to be then?”

 

She licked her lips. “How do you mean?”

 

He scoffed in the darkness. “You know what I mean.”

 

She turned to face him, although he wasn't much more than a vague shape to her eyes. “I mean, I liked it. Did you- I mean, do you-”

 

“Don’t ask stupid questions, little bird.”

 

“I thought there were no stupid questions, only stupid answers.”

 

“Whoever said that  _ was _ stupid. Of course there are.”

 

Sansa smiled a little. She could do this. “I wouldn’t mind doing that again. Sometime.”

 

“Good. Tomorrow, we’re moving in there.” She imagined he was gesturing to her bedroom. “No point in  _ this _ now is there?” He thumped a hand against the cushions. She huffed out a laugh, and shook her head, even though he couldn't see.

 

Sandor reached out an arm then, and drew her to him. She pressed her face into his side, and drew in the smell of him. Yes, they would both have to wash soon. Their clothes and themselves. He felt warm and solid against her. He didn’t stop her as she fumbled a hand up, against his throat. Under the tangle of his beard, she could feel his pulse thrumming. Alive. Warm.

 

“Good night Sandor.” She tucked her hand back under the blanket, pushing her face harder against his side. He made no reply, but his arm tightened around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never attempted to write a love scene before, with the exception of one in a recently completed fic of the same pairing, which I frankly was not too happy with. Thoughts? Criticism?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I'm kind of stuck at home for a while. Unless I suddenly turn into a functioning adult, and start cleaning and all that jazz, you all may get a bunch of updates over the next few days.

“I’ve never slept with a man before.”

 

Sandor scowled at her. “Yes you have.”

 

“I mean actually _sleep_.” Sansa wriggled slightly against the pillows, pushing them into a more comfortable configuration. The bed was infinitely more comfortable than the floor had been. “And I’ve never spent all day in bed with one either.”

 

Not that they’d actually been doing anything today, but it was the principle of the thing.

 

Sandor snorted, sounding only a little breathless. He’d thrown back the covers, and had been doing crunches all morning. “Then you haven't been doing it right.”

 

She smiled a little, watching him move. “Maybe I haven't then. And you don’t need to do that, you know.” The covers were already dirtied as it was, there was no need to add more sweat to the mix than necessary. She almost wished she were a little crueler, and could banish him to the floor when he started up with that. Although most likely he wouldn’t listen if she tried. I was not as though she could _make_ him.

 

He flopped back on the bed, relaxing his legs. “Yes I fucking do. You should too.”

 

She hummed. “Maybe.”

 

She watched his stomach move with his breath, and slid her hand up to touch, first over his thin layer of shirts, then sliding her fingers underneath the cloth. He jumped a little at her cold fingers, but made no move to pull away. Even after the past few days, it was still strange that she was allowed touch him like this. He didn’t seem to mind; half the time he ignored it, and the other half he paid her back in kind. This time was one of the latter apparently, because he looked over at her, and slid his own hand under her sweaters, and over the tender skin of her abdomen. There was no heat in his eyes, nor in his touch. It was just- just something Sansa needed, and he knew that. Maybe he needed it too, sometimes.

 

The skin beneath Sansa’s hand was sweaty, the light coating of hair that covered his stomach, thickening as it reached his chest, was rough under her fingers. She closed her eyes as Sandor moved his own hand, caressing lightly from her ribcage to her hip bones.

 

When she opened her eyes again, he was looking at her in that strange way he’d been lately, crinkle between his eyes.

 

“What?”

 

His hand stilled, and he sighed. “Just- tell me you had someone before _him_.”

 

There was no need to clarify which _him_ Sandor meant, though Sansa tried not to think too much about him. “Yes, I did.”

 

He let out a breath and nodded, hand resuming it’s motions. “Good.”

 

Sansa let her own hand play over the bumps and plains of Sandor’s stomach and chest, the smooth roundness of muscle and the hard angles of the bones beneath. Only one before Joffrey, but she was glad for it. She’d known she hadn’t loved Harry, but she’d _wanted_ and he was there. And certainly willing. And nice enough to look at and spend time with. She’d wanted to do better next time, had waited until love, or what she’d thought of as love. Which had gone so well, hadn’t it?

 

Sandor was different. Nothing they’d done had been exactly unfamiliar, but he was much more attentive than her previous experiences had taught her to expect. His attention was enjoyable, but almost a bit off putting- he always watched her closely, during. Of course that was only fair- she watched him too. She craved the touch, the contact that their trysts brought, but almost as intoxicating was the thought that it was _she_ , Sansa Stark, who could cause him such distraction. When they were together, the imbalance of his size, strength, and his seemingly endless experience of _everything_ , melted away. They were equal.

 

He pulled his hand away then, breaking her out of her thoughts. She removed her own as well, stomach feeling cold where his hand had been, despite the relative warmth of the day. Thought warmth wasn’t the right word; it just wasn’t so cold as usual. She watched as he positioned himself, wondering what he would do next.

 

“If you get up to do- whatever you’re going to do, I’ll do some too.” To her slight surprise, he nodded, and stood up. “Really?”

 

“I said you should do this too. I meant it.” Of course he did. Sandor didn’t say things he didn’t mean.

 

“Why?”

 

He shook his head. “You want to lose your breath when you have to run from those things? Do you want to find your knife arm isn’t as strong as you remember? Could kill you. Winter takes a while. I won’t go soft while I’m stuck in here, and you shouldn’t either.”

 

That was true enough. She slid off the bed, grimacing as the air seemed to seep through her jeans. “So you hate being stuck in here? With me?”

 

He shrugged. “S’not been so bad.”

 

She grinned a little, watching Sandor continue with his crunches, another sort this time. She pressed her own back to the wall, between the dresser and the closet. Squats were easy enough. She could do squats. And they were more a woman’s exercise weren't they? Sandor could hardly mock her for them. It took her by surprise when he looked over, and directed her to put her legs closer together.

 

“You did everything? Before?” She should’ve realized that. Muscled as he was now, he must have been even larger before, when he’d had enough to eat. At his nod, she pressed on. “So you liked to look strong, then?”

 

“I like to _be_ strong. Doesn’t matter what it looks like.” Sansa’s legs were already shaking. Sandor was right then, as he almost always was. She persisted, trying to find some distraction from her own startling weakness.

 

“So- so you said-” She grimaced as she drew herself up again. Five more. Only five more. “You said it’ll be awhile until the winter ends?”

 

He nodded, voice steady as he continued with his exercises. “If we’re unlucky, it’ll be a long while.”

 

It had been weeks and weeks already. Sansa stopped, raising herself up, and stepping over Sandor to sit on the edge of the bed, panting. At least she wasn’t cold anymore.

 

“You should stretch some.”

 

She lay back, trying to ignore the ache in her thighs. “You don’t.”

 

“Yes I do.” Oh. He did always get up before she did, although his rising usually woke her anyway. His morning foray into the little bathroom had always been his longest of the day, she couldn't help but notice, on the living room floor as she had been. She’d always assumed- it didn’t matter.

 

Sandor was continuing, without so much as slowing. At least his voice showed some signs of strain now. “You should come. It’s easier outside. More room. And it’s good to get some air.”

 

Oh. Well, her assumption might well have not been off then. It would have been rude to _ask_ him. She had thought it only polite to give him time alone, since she’d been sleeping beside him every night, for a long time now. The lack of alone time hadn't bothered her any, but that drive had been been absent from her life for a while, since before this had all started. That was part of what had startled her so, when she’d been so enthusiastic their first time. Before Sandor had arrived, she’d tried herself a few times. But nothing had really come of it. It had been more a way to combat boredom than any real pleasure. But men could be different, she knew; and her past with Joffrey had done Sansa no favors.

 

“Well?”

 

She blinked at the ceiling. “Sure. Before we get the water?”

 

“Yeah. And I take a look around too. See if anything looks off.”

 

She rolled to her side, and stood. She lay beside Sandor, and began crunches of her own. They seemed easiest out of the exercises she could think of. They labored in silence for a time. She could smell the sweat, and wondered how much of the scent was from him. She lay back after a while, stomach muscles burning, gasping for air.

 

Sandor glanced over at her. “Don’t push it too much. You’ll get there.” He lay back as well, panting slightly. They lay in silence. Sansa thought she could hear the wind blowing outside, but couldn’t be sure. She hoped it wasn’t snowing again.

 

“Do you think this will ever end?” It had been a thought that circled her mind quite a bit. Only at night, before. Her days had been full and busy. But now-

 

“Everything ends.”

 

She turned onto her side, and faced him, head propped in her hand. “How do you think?”

 

He shrugged, eyes closed. “Maybe they’ll kill people, until there's no one left. Maybe they’ll finally die then. Maybe there _are_ some scientists or government hiding somewhere, like some people think. Maybe they’re working on a cure right now. Whatever happens, I doubt we’ll live to see it.”

 

Sansa huffed out a breath. “That’s cheerful.” The sweat was beginning to dry, cold beginning to seep back into her limbs.

 

“That’s the truth.”

 

Sandor didn’t lie. When she asked him a question, he gave her an honest answer. But that didn’t mean he was right. “So what do we do? Between now and our impending doom?”

 

He didn’t react to the bite in her voice. “We survive. As best we can.”

 

Sansa shook her head. “We _live_ as best we can.”

 

He opened his eyes then, turning to look at her. “There’s a difference?”

 

She met his eyes, and thought of before. Before Sandor had become a permanent fixture in the house. Of the loneliness and the ‘visiting’ she’d done, with the dead and the maybe-dead.

 

“Of course there is.”


	19. Chapter 19

Sansa came to slowly, feeling something was off. It took a long sleepy moment to realize that there were sounds of rain against the window. She sat up, stretching, and turned to flip up the window covering. The snow coating the ground had turned to grey sludge, with only a few patches of white remaining. It worried her a little- the stream had long since frozen over, and without the snow, how would they collect water?

 

Sandor was already up- before her, as usual. She swung her legs out of bed, and moved into the kitchen. It was warmer today, but not by much. She frowned when she saw Sandor at the counter, fresh-made panbread stacked haphazardly on the plate beside him. He was looking out the window, brow furrowed.

 

“You couldn’t wait for me?”

 

She poked the bread, and found it cold. This was not the start of a promising day.

 

He looked at her, studying her for a long moment. Then, he gestured to the counter, where a small bowl sat, half empty.

 

“That’s still warm.”

 

The bowl contained a small amount of oatmeal. It had crusted and cooled on top, the contents below being lukewarm at best. She took a bite sullenly. He hadn’t even mixed in the condensed milk, and doing so now could only cool the stuff further.

 

Sandor handed her a piece of the panbread. “Finish that quick. We’re going out today.”

 

Sansa dipped the piece of bread into the bowl. She found it crunchy and tangy; Sandor had mixed in some of the oats and even those dried apples he’d been so suspicious of. She wished she had thought of that, though the combination wanted something sweet. They’d finished the sugar last week, but perhaps some of that canned milk.

 

“In this? Why? Are we going to look through those houses?” Her heart sank a little at the thought. There was a reason she’d never gone into those- at least most of the stores had big glass windows and doors, that gave you some indication of what you were walking into. And that rain would be cold to say the least.

 

“Not the houses. The gas station.”

 

She chewed the last of the food, speaking around it. “Why there? I got the last of what was decent there ages ago.” He should remember; it had been where they’d met.

 

“Not everything. Nobody really bothered with the condoms, did they?”

 

Sansa almost choked on the bread. “Yeah- no, they didn’t.” She’d seen the colorful rack on her last visit there. It hadn’t really mattered to her then. What could she use them for? Now though- “Yes. We could do that.”

 

It had been a long winter, and there would still be some time. They would have a lot of hours to while away, before they could go out again, before they really needed to restock. Sandor nodded as though he hadn't expected anything less of her, as though he had suggested a routine supply run.

 

“How long has it been raining? Should we go now?”

 

He nodded, with another glance out the window. The snow was all but gone, only a thin grey sludge, with grass poking through. Sansa returned to the bedroom, Sandor on her heels. Both dressed in all their warmest clothes. She felt stuffy and overheated, but knew that she’d be grateful for the layers when they were outside.

 

Sansa stuffed the gun into its usual place in the front of her jeans, a little chill passing through her as she touched the cold metal. She couldn’t help but flash back to the Rotters she’d killed with it- to the surge of power she’d felt. But no one would be firing a shot today, if they could help it. It was far too close to home.

 

Shaking off her thoughts, she touched her wrist, where the little knife always remained.

 

On their way to the door, she stopped at the silverware drawer, which usually remained untouched these days. Pulling it open, she pulled out her largest knives, arraying them on the counter. She glanced to Sandor, at stepped aside, allowing him to examine them. It wasn’t a huge selection, and she wasn't surprised when he chose the large one with the rubber handle. She took it, holding it awkwardly a moment, trying to determine where to keep it.

 

“Just hold it for now. We won’t be long.”

 

The gas station was only a few minutes walk away. Sansa pulled her hair back in a hasty knot, pulling her hat over it, and pulling her hood up for good measure. She’d been keeping it loose lately. It was warmer that way; and though he never said anything, she thought Sandor liked it. “Can we set one of your traps? Maybe get a rabbit while we’re out?”

 

Sandor shoot his head, waiting by the door. “We won’t be long enough for that. Shouldn’t be. Weather like this, it could ice up any time now.”

 

It was a shame. She hadn’t had meat in too long; fresh meat in even longer.

 

“Ready?” He sounded a little impatient, glancing out the window again. Sansa nodded. When they opened the door, she almost regretted her acquiescence to the plan. The rain was heavy and cold where it hit her upturned face. She quickly tucked her face down, and back into her hood. Sandor must have been awake for a while; he’d set their spare pots and pans on the bottom step to catch what rain they could. She stepped quickly to the ground, out of Sandor’s way. Her parka kept out most of the rain, but her jeans were quickly soaked, as well as her hands. As the cold rain began to wet her gloves through, she tucked one hand into her pocket. The other, grasping the knife, was steadily growing colder.

 

“Let’s do this quickly.” Sandor was not looking happy, and she couldn’t blame him. His jacket did not have a hood, and his hair and collar were quickly soaking through.

 

Sansa dropped back as they approached the gate- she thought she could see movement in the woods, between the trees. Sandor too seemed alert, taking his knife in hand as he let himself out of the fence. Sansa slipped out behind him, closing the gate as quietly as she could. It still creaked, and the figure between the trees turned their way. Sandor dealt with it quickly and quietly, as he was apt to do. Sansa remained on the path, glancing around until he returned.

 

Without speaking, he jerked his chin in the direction of the town, and started along the path again. She fell in behind him, knife feeling too heavy in her hand. They reached the road without incident, and passed the van as they walked down the street. It was strange to be doing this, to be walking again. She’d spent so much time indoors, she’d almost forgotten.

 

The fluttering in her stomach did not die once they’d reached the gas station. Sansa turned to face the road while Sandor entered, thumping the pommel of his knife on the checkout counter. She gripped her own all the harder, squinting past the drips collecting on her furred hood. The wind was beginning to pick up now, driving some of the rain into her eyes. She jumped at the rap on the glass door, and hurriedly entered.

 

It was as empty as she’d remembered it. Even more so maybe; she thought there had used to be cigarettes and cigars behind the counter. They both headed to the back of the store cautiously. There was no sense in making more noise than necessary.

 

She looked left and right as they passed through the isle, and jumped, grabbing his arm hard. He wheeled around, knife at the ready- then glanced at her. She pointed down, at the small gap between the shelves. There was a boot in the next isle over. A boot most likely on a foot. Which may or may not be attached to a leg.

 

It was raining harder now, if that was possible, pounding on the cheap tin roof. Sandor drew her to the end of their isle, and indicated that she stay there. He advanced quietly towards the slumped figure, Sansa peeking around to watch.

 

Once within arm’s reach- his own at least- he lunged forwards, burying his knife in the body’s skull. Sansa hurried forward again, her own wet boots squeaking against the linoleum. The body was fresh- if not for Sandor’s knife, and the blood spreading under him, he might have been asleep.

 

Sandor removed the knife with a squelch. “Still warm. He wasn’t gone long. An hour, maybe. Maybe even less.” He looked up, and answered the question before she asked it. “He wasn’t breathing.”

 

Sansa looked down at the body. An old man- maybe nearing seventy. He had a dirty grey beard, and tangled hair. His clothes were still damp. Sansa couldn’t see a bite mark, but she appreciated Sandor’s caution nonetheless. The old man had had a pack, which looked very slack and empty. Sandor rummaged through it, and seemingly found nothing of value. Before he stood, he unbuckled the corpse’s belt, and pulled a sheathed knife off of it.

 

He held it out to Sansa, and she took it, examining it closely. It was an old, heavy one- well used, from the wear on the antler handle. It was a little too large for her hand, but not nearly so large as Sandor’s own knife. She nodded her thanks.

 

They left the body where it lay, Sansa only a little bothered by it. If the old man had died of a bite, or of starvation or of sickness- there was nothing they could’ve done for him. It was too late. A man of his age was rather lucky to have survived this long, she thought. Out on the road, anyway.

 

The rack was where she remembered it. It held loose condoms only, rather than the boxes she had been hoping for. Still. Couldn’t be picky. She chose the brand and size, looking to Sandor for approval. At his nod, she stuffed them into her pockets, not trusting to his stained and crusted gloves to touch _these_ , packaged though they might be.

 

Straightening, she took another sweeping look around, but as she expected, there was nothing else really here. Some of the toiletries remained, but nothing useful. She nodded to Sandor, and the two of them made their way out of the gas station, avoiding the old man’s body. Sansa thought vaguely that they ought to have covered him, but they had nothing to give. The old man himself had not even had a blanket.

 

Back in the pouring rain, they hastened back down the streets. Sansa saw no Rotters as they hurried along, but the rain was so loud, so heavy that it was hard to tell. It was marginally better under the trees. Sandor spoke for the first time as the fence came into view.

 

“Let's get back inside, get this fucking over with.”

 

She sidled closer, pressing her elbow to his forearm. “It’s not all bad. We’ll have to warm up _somehow_.” He grinned at her then, and she liked to see that. He did not smile often, and when he did it was not always a happy expression.

 

The crashing through the brush took them both by surprise, as a Rotter came shambling from the thick pines. Sandor stumbled back, shoving Sansa sharply behind him. The abrupt push knocked her over all together, and she flung her knife arm to the side to avoid impaling herself. Pulling herself up against a tree, she looked up to see Sandor still backing away, the corpse impaled through the shoulder on his knife, still snapping at him. Two others emerged in front of him, and he was reaching for his gun while he pushed the first off of his blade with a boot to the ribs, and it slid to the wet ground, still reaching.

 

Sansa gripped her knife harder, and skipped to the side before approaching. Her first strike punched through the eye of the one on the ground as it reached forward, open mouthed, rain running into its eyes. The heavy knife slid free easily, and she looked up. Sandor had dispatched one, and was pinning the remaining Rotter to a wide tree trunk with his gun arm, while the other brought his knife up in a quick movement, puncturing the soft, rotting flesh beneath its chin.

 

That wasn’t all. She could hear the movements in the forest, disturbingly close to Sandor and herself. She swallowed and forged ahead, ignoring Sandor’s muffled shout behind her. They were hard to see in the rain, and she nearly stumbled into them. There were two, thin, and moving jerkily in the rain. Even in her surprise, she remembered to bring her knife up. The slice to its gut only served to get its attention, and it swerved towards her. Gritting her teeth, Sansa planted a gloved hand on the thing’s thin chest, and her knife bit through its temple. It fell nearly on top of her, and she stumbled back, shoulder hitting a thick branch hard. The other was advancing, faster than she expected.

 

As she was pulling her knife from the first, Sandor materialized through the thick branches, crashing into the second, knocking it away from her. Her blade slid free of her own kill as Sandor took down the second. She was breathing hard. They shouldn’t be this fast, it was still cold.

 

“Do you think-”

 

But Sandor had grasped her arm, pulling her quickly back to the path. She stumbled over two more bodies on the way. She hadn’t noticed those coming for them. It was a quick walk back to the path, and Sandor did not release her until they were inside the fence. She followed him as he strode towards the house.

 

Once inside, dripping on the tile, she tried again. Sandor was removing his own coat and gloves, and she followed suit, dropping them to the floor.

 

“Do you think the rain-”

 

But he cut her off again, dragging her to him, pressing his mouth over hers. It was not a gentle kiss, and she wrapped her hands in the fabric of his hoodie, still damp from the rain. His hair dripped onto her face. She was gasping when he pulled back. His face was expressionless, and he watched her for a moment. Then, he reached for her discarded coat, rummaging in the pocket for a moment.

 

The little foil square in hand, he marched back up to her, holding it in front of her face like a trophy. She swallowed.

 

“Yes.”

 

Taking her by the arm again, he drew her to the bedroom. The frenzied energy of his kiss was not gone, but rather contained. Once inside, he tugged at her clothes.

 

“You too.” If she was to strip in the cold room, he would too.

 

He began to do as she asked, but stopped at his t-shirt, making no move to remove his soaked jeans. She continued on, feeling a little too exposed as she hopped from foot to foot, removing jeans and boots. He’d never seen her bare before, not like this. They’d always been somewhat covered. The cold air raised goosebumps along her arms.

 

She repressed the urge to cover her breasts. “What about you?”

 

He didn’t answer, pulling her to sit on the edge of the bed with him, and she winced at the feel of his cold, soaked jeans on the skin of her thigh. He kissed her again, hard and insistent. She tried to return it, somewhat overwhelmed by his fervor, by his hands on her.

 

After an indeterminate amount of time, he pressed her to the bed. She had wanted their first time to be face to face, the better to gauge his reaction, but he put a hand to her back, between her shoulder blades, when she tried to roll over, and she subsided.

 

He was- not rough, exactly. But far from gentle. He didn't hurt her, in fact she was quite grateful to his slow pace in the beginning. It had been quite a while, and he was not a small man. But after, when she’d gasped to him that it was alright now, he wouldn't hurt her- it took her off guard, the vigor with which he moved.

 

He had not fully removed his jeans, and the wet denim scraped against her thighs. She tried to look around at him, meet his eyes, but he pushed her head back into the pillow, and pressed his own face against her neck, beard tickling her skin.

 

She wanted to touch, to feel his skin against hers, but the best she could do was to grip his hands hard, where they had fisted on either side of her shoulders. It grounded her some, and she pushed up against him, but she wanted more, more contact that he seemed determined she not have.

 

It frustrated her; it was not _enough._ He was panting in her ear, thrusts already coming more erratically, and she tugged at his hand, as hard as she could. He seemed to get the message, and dragged it, open palmed down her torso. She bucked into the touch, and when his hand reached its goal, it was finally, _finally,_ enough.

 

Afterwards, she lay, panting and shuddering as he rolled off her. She turned to her side, watching as he removed the condom. She thought she should protest when he simply tossed it to the side, but couldn’t muster the energy. She watched some more as he tucked himself away, and finally removed the soaked jeans. She slipped under the covers, and found that the side of her neck was feeling a little more raw than usual. She wondered if he’d bitten her- she’d been a bit distracted herself, by the end of things. If so, it hadn't been hard. Her searching hand found no marks, only more tenderness. His beard, maybe.

 

He slid in next to her, lifting his arm to allow her to crowd in close. She pressed her bare legs to his, and slipped both palms under his shirt, seeking the heated skin of his stomach. It was hard against her hands, but then all of him was. There was no softness in his body.

 

They lay in silence for a time, while Sansa’s body calmed, returning to its usual state.

 

“Do you always like it like that?” It had been much faster, much more _intense_ than she had expected, and had certainly taken her off guard in the aftermath of the sudden attack.

 

“No.” A slight pause, where she tucked her head against his jaw. His beard irritated her tender skin, but she didn’t withdraw. “Sometimes.”

 

“I’m not _complaining._ I just didn’t expect that.” The rain was still beating on the roof, harder now, with staccato thumps. Sansa wondered if the rain hadn’t turned to hail, and maybe sleet. She was glad to be inside, warm under the covers.

 

“Don’t do that again.”

 

She pulled back to look up at him. His face was carefully blank, as it had been earlier. “Do what again?”

 

“Run off like that. Promise me you won’t. It was _stupid_.”

  
“No.” He stirred against her, but she cut off whatever he might say. “It wasn’t stupid. There were more than was safe for you to take on your own. They were too close. And if I'd stood there, and let you fire your gun? _That_ would've been stupid.” He should _know_ that. It had been plain enough to Sansa. “I won’t promise. It was the right thing to do, and I’d do it again. I’ll probably have to do it again, sometime.” She pressed her face back into his neck, and waited for his response. But none came. Her just lay with her, listening to the sound of the rain and the hail on the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went a bit further this time, in the intimacy. It felt right to include it here; I think it added rather than detracted from the chapter. As before, thoughts, comments, critiques, the whole shebang.
> 
> Any issues you all critique will be blamed on my cat. He kept trying to eat the houseplant while I was writing that scene.


	20. Chapter 20

Sansa lifted her head, the better to catch the cool breeze. Her hair was up for once, and the moving air tickled the skin at her neck. It was not warm, exactly. The ground was still cold and soggy, and when it rained, as it so often had been, it was the cold grey sort. But today the sun was shining, and even a few birds were making themselves heard in the trees.

 

She glanced up at Sandor as she rose to her feet, pan of water in hand. The grass squelched wetly under her feet.

 

“I think _we_ need to go out today.” She couldn’t help but put emphasis on the word ‘we’. Since the final thaw a few weeks back, Sandor had been out a few times, collecting some things to restock their cabinets. But save for once, there had always been some reason he’d cited as to why Sansa should stay behind. Laundering their clothes, cleaning their bed things, she’d gotten a cold, and so on. The winter had been hard, those last few weeks. They hadn’t had to go hungry, there being a decent amount of flour left even now, but all other supplies had fallen short. Eating panbread and nothing but panbread left Sansa feeling weak and depleted.

 

Sandor answered without looking at her, still surveying the treeline just beyond the fence. “Maybe.”

 

Moving back towards the house, she felt better today than she had in some time. The rabbit last night had helped, and the last remnants of her cold had finally faded. Sansa had been all for trying some of their antibiotics for a while, although Sandor had insisted that they wouldn’t do anything.

 

“We should. This is the best weather we’ve had so far. I think winter might be over.”

 

Sandor pushed the door open, and stood aside for her to move the water to the stove. “Maybe.”

 

She’d been saying that for weeks. This was the first time he’d not contradicted her. Lighting the stove, Sansa thought they might not have to worry as much about matches. The burner’s flame was going bright orange at the ends. She grimaced up at Sandor. “It lasted longer than I expected.”

 

He shrugged. “It’ll last a while longer, and we still have the portable. We know that works. And we can try to find a refill for that one.”

 

She looked over at him, crossing her arms tightly under her breasts. “Today?”

 

He nodded.

 

Turning away, Sansa perused the cabinets. They didn’t have much left. She wouldn’t eat more panbread if she could help it. She finally settled on the last of the tins that Sandor had brought back a few days past. Sardines were hardly her favorite, but they would have to do. The solidity of last night’s meat still warmed her; she thought she wouldn’t need much today.

 

Sandor finished quickly, both his share of the sardines and the remainder of the week-old panbread. Sansa ate her portion slowly. It was barely light outside; they had time. His hand was curled around the nape of her neck, forearm draped over the back of her chair. She leaned into the pressure of his fingers, allowing her eyes to close as the caress dipped under the collar of her sweater.

 

It was reluctantly that she rose, sucking the last of the flavor from her fingers. “Should we try for a big one today? Go a bit further? We’ll have more light today then you did a few weeks back.”

 

Sandor’s attempt at a larger supply run on his own had not been fruitful; largely because he’d spent most of the time _looking_ for a likely place to search. By the time he’d found one, he hadn’t had all that much time to gather supplies.

 

Sandor rose as well, nodding. “Yeah. We’ll go back where I was, there were a lot of places I didn’t look.”

 

Sansa hesitated before leaving her hat where it was, thrown over the arm of the couch. The gun was already in place. She’d been hoping they’d go out today. The knife was, as ever, at her hip. It had become as much a part of her daily wear as the one strapped to her wrist, though the most use it had seen lately had been slicing up that rabbit.

 

Stepping outside again was a true pleasure. It might actually get something like warm as the day progressed. As usual, Sandor led the way, Sansa following. They kept their silence as they moved down the path to the road, and she began to regret leaving her hat behind as heavy drips fell from the branches above.

 

While they did see a Rotter as they reached the street, neither of them bothered to face it. The van was close enough; they would not be drawing the thing to a place they’d be staying for long. Although it was moving at a good clip for a Rotter, they were easily able to outpace it, jogging to the car and ducking in.

 

Sansa turned to Sandor as he started the car. “How far away is this place?”

 

“Maybe an hour or so. There were some closer that I passed through, but they were smaller, and a lot closer to the highway. This one was a decent size.”

 

A noise had Sansa turning her head, only to see the Rotter scraping past the bumper, bony-looking hips cracking against the side of the car. Sandor pulled out just then, but it wouldn’t have really mattered. The windows were up. “You were at the supermarket last time?”

 

“Yeah, but nowhere else. Didn’t have time. Wasn’t much in there.” He hadn’t come back with much more than the new cart last time. She hoped the other stores would be a bit better.

 

The drive passed mostly in companionable silence, broken only by one of them pointing out a sign which led to one town or another. Sansa thought they might have time to stop again on the way back, if their first stop proved unsatisfactory.

 

She stretched her legs as they got out of the car, surveying the area while Sandor unloaded the cart. There was a body slumped on the sidewalk. She eyed it rather warily.

 

“That was me. Last time. It’s put down.” He came up beside her, and she took the cart from him.

 

She looked up at him, flicking her eyes to the small shop down the street. “There.”

 

He looked, and snorted. “Ice cream place? What’ll be good there?”

 

“I bet that’s what a lot of people thought. There might be something. Besides, it looks kind of touristy, doesn’t it? There might be a map in there.”

 

“Alright.”

 

He took the lead, and Sansa followed, skirting the body as best she could. The little shop proved to be utterly deserted. The bell had rung when they entered, making them jump. The counter was a pretty marble pattern, with tall stools all down one side. It looked like the sort of place Sansa would have liked a few years back. As she recalled, her first outing with Joffrey had been somewhere similar.

 

Sandor was right that there wasn’t much in the way of goods- at least that hadn’t spoiled. The small snack counter had been ransacked, and even the gumball machine had been smashed and emptied. But they were able to come up with a sealed jar of cherries, and a large can of pineapple sauce. And that map. Which wasn’t much, but it was something.

 

The hours whiled away as they explored the town.The map helped, guiding them to the most likely places. Sansa took on her usual role as scavenger while Sandor dealt with the Rotters. She thought she might ask to try the gun again today; they’d had another practice session a few weeks back. But shooting a gun twice didn’t make her knowledgeable.

 

They didn’t find as much food as they’d hoped, but they did find a small sporting goods store. It looked to be relatively untouched, judging by the jerky movements beyond the plate glass windows. If it had been completely stripped, she thought, most, if not all of the Rotters would have been taken care of already. There were more of the dead then she really wanted them to confront. But if there was fuel inside, it could be well worth it.

 

A few moments whispered discussion, and they took their positions in front of the door. The things were already pressing against the windows, hands silhouetted behind the frosted glass. It was Sandor who kicked the door open, backing up after, stopping just in front of Sansa. They began to crowd out, bumping into one another as they made for the door. In the end, Sandor dealt with most of them, although she stood her ground behind him. There was no need to be foolish; he had far superior reach. The width of the door forced them to either come out one at a time or become stuck, which they did in equal measure.

 

Once it was over, they performed the usual checks inside for more potential danger. There were a few more bodies, but these had already been shot. They heaved the corpses that were bottle-necking the entrance into the street, closing the door behind them. From the look of them, the Rotters they’d killed had turned after everything had really started, perhaps after staying here for some time. Sansa could almost picture the panic; a Rotter finding its way in, or perhaps a friend turning. She shuddered, looking at Sandor. She hoped some of these mystery people had gotten out. Clearly not all of them. Some of the reanimated bodies had looked a bit- chewed. But _some_ must’ve. The door had been unlocked, after all.

 

Whoever they’d been, they must not have been here all that long; there was still a decent amount of the store’s jerky and freeze-dried food towards the back, in addition to some nondescript canned goods, all heaped on a couple of cleared shelves. Neatly arrayed in a corner nearby were several likely looking canisters, which Sandor claimed would work with the stove they found. After carefully placing this prize in the cart, Sansa tossed the food in on top. With all they’d found, they had enough to last them a while if need be. Although they should keep scavenging when possible. Just in case.

 

Sansa heaved the cart around, wheels squealing, to avoid one of the bodies. There wasn’t much of it left- she wasn’t even sure if it was male or female.

 

“Do they eat each other? I’ve never seen them.”

 

Sandor shook the hair out of his eyes, pushing aside canisters of bird seed without much interest. “I don’t think so. If they did, they’d spend all their time eating each other, wouldn’t they?” He shook his head. “Every time I’ve seen, they lose interest when the body gets cold.”

 

How often had he see that? It wasn’t something they really talked about.

 

“Should we take one of those?” Sansa pointed to the tent display on the far wall, but Sandor shook his head.

 

“Too heavy to carry around. Besides. Rotters can get right through that, or collapse the whole thing on top of you. You go with a car if you can, if you haven't got better. Otherwise-” He shrugged. “At least in the open you can get out if you need to.”

 

She wondered who that had happened to. He’d been a little too specific, she thought, for that to be an example pulled out at random. But she didn’t ask.

 

Walking past the empty gun racks, they began to search in earnest. An extra weapon couldn’t hurt. But everything was gone- from the guns to the pocket knives. Sansa had expected as much- the majority would have been bought out in the beginning, when the panic had started. When people had begun to realize how serious everything was. She had entertained ideas like that herself, but she’d had no transportation once the buses had stopped running. Besides. The thought of carrying a weapon, even a knife, had frightened her then.

 

They made their way back to the front of the store. On the counter, the register was half open, bills stacked haphazardly inside. Leaning over, she pushed the drawer closed with a finger.

 

Sandor had located a warm hooded jacket close to his size, though it would hang loosely on him, being made for a much rounder man. The weather for jackets would soon be over, but they rolled it tightly, and stashed it in the cart nonetheless. Winter would come again.

 

Back on the street, she glanced at the sky. The sun was high now, beaming down on them. Sansa lowered the zip on her jacket, looking over at Sandor. They’d already hit most of the likely stores, with the exception of the shopping center. She didn’t like the idea of all those doors and corners. He apparently didn’t either, as he ushered her back to the car.

 

After loading the cart into the back, they slid into their seats.

 

“Should we head back, do you think?” There was still plenty of daylight left.

 

He shook his head. “We’ve got enough for a while. But we’re already out here. We’ll see what we see on the way back.”

 

It was a longer route he took, deliberately passing through many of the smaller towns. They chose a likely looking one, and left the car at the very edge of the town. It was quiet enough, with no Rotters that she could see. The corner store had been emptied, and the little town had no supermarket, but they found some odds and ends about.

 

The last store they entered was a bookstore. Sansa entered without any expectation of finding anything, but there were a few sugary treats stocked under the register. She made a mental note to check their toothpaste back home. She thought they still had a tube or two left.

 

She turned towards Sandor. “Ready, then?” The gun practice would come next, he would see the sense in that. Even if there were no moving targets here, she could aim at a tree or something similar. The noise would draw them in.

 

But he hesitated.

 

“What?”

 

“Do you want-” He gestured at the shelves. She blinked. It hadn’t even occurred to her. She glanced at the shelves behind her, turning the thought over in her mind. Looking back at Sandor she smiled. “Yeah. I think I do”

 

The books he’d brought all those months ago had helped to pass the time, and they’d been cheap gas station dramas. Sansa liked silly books well enough, but given the choice-

 

She crouched low, starting at the bottom of the shelf. She ran her fingers along the spines- this shelf was all new, glossy and undisturbed. She pulled out a paperback, relishing the slight crackling of the spine when she opened it. Her bag was mostly empty, the cart having remained in the car. The book fit in easily.

 

Sandor gestured her back to the shelves when she rose, turning to look out the glass door. “Go on. We’ve got time.”

 

She hesitated for a moment, thinking of that practice she’d wanted. But when would she have a chance like this again? A small undisturbed store full of books, in a town near deserted by Rotters?

 

Sansa took her time, perusing the shelves with care. She had always liked romances the best, the good ones anyway, but she took some of everything today. Self-help, poetry, fantasy- the largest variety she could fit and still close the bag's drawstring. It was stuffed and heavy when she lifted it to her shoulder again, but she was smiling.

 

When she turned back to Sandor, she found him inches away, finger over his mouth. Grasping her arm, he drew her down to crouch on the dusty floorboards. Letting her bag ease to the ground, Sansa drew her knife. Sandor crawled quietly to the window, and she followed suit.

 

She heard it then- what must have caught his attention while she was caught up in the abundance of books. The murmur of voices. Sansa cursed her hair, and ducked even lower. It would not do to be spotted. _Why_ had she not brought that hat? She could just see a strip of blue sky from her spot near the floor. Sandor was pressed low against the wall beside the window, in the shadow of the shelf on his other side. He could afford to keep that position, to have a look. His hair was black, and even with his winter pallor, he was darker skinned than she. She fixed her eyes on his bandanna, moving with his steady breaths.

 

The voices quieted as they drew closer, and Sandor pressed further into the shelf. Sansa thought she could hear footsteps. But maybe that was nothing, her mind playing tricks.

 

She closed her eyes, thanking whichever of the gods was listening. Whichever had led Sandor here, stopping her from firing that gun. The Mother, maybe.

 

If you believed such things.

 

Sandor was watching intently, his eyes following movements that Sansa, in her current position, couldn’t see. She could tell when the unseen travelers had passed the shop, as he eased further to the side, the better to see. His eyes widened, and he tugged at her arm, pulling her upwards.

 

Gripping the bottom of the window frame, Sansa looked out, trying to keep her hair out of the light. There were three figures a ways up the street, burdened with a bag apiece. If they were here for supplies, they would leave unhappy- she and Sandor had taken everything they could find, and they’d searched thoroughly.

 

Of the three figures, two were tall, one much slighter. But it was the one bringing up the rear that Sandor seemed interested in. He pointed vigorously, and Sansa squinted at the man- she assumed it was a man, by the height. That bright hair- it looked familiar.

 

The figure turned his head and she gasped. For a moment she felt cold, frozen in place. It _couldn’t_ be.

 

Stumbling to her feet, she made for the door. Sandor snatched at her arm, but she dodged, pulling the door open, stepping out into the street. All three figures had wheeled around as she emerged, grouping together and brandishing indistinct weapons.

 

They drew even closer together when Sandor emerged, shoving her behind him, hand on his knife. But he hadn’t drawn it yet.

 

The figure with the mop of golden hair had stiffened, staring at them. Sansa struggled around Sandor’s restraining arm, trying to get a better look. But she was sure.

 

“Tommen?”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys- forgot to ask at the end of last chapter. Obviously some chunks of time have passed, so that we were able to skips from from beginning of winter to the end. Just wanted to ask if that was clear enough. I've always thought the whole 'three months later....' thing was really cheesy.

He looked older, but then it had been a few years since Sandor had last seen him. And even then, he’d been shipped off to school when he’d been deemed old enough. Both he and his sister, by their own choice. And he could hardly blame them.

 

The boy- if he could be called such anymore- had tufts of blonde hair sprouting from his cheeks, and his face had a leaner, more angled look to it. Much more Lannister-looking than the round-cheeked boy he’d been. But if they were to meet a Lannister, Tommen would most like be the safest. His companions though-

 

The one at his back was no older than he, though significantly broader. He had the lean, sagging look of someone who’d lost a lot of weight very quickly. He was glancing at Tommen now, at his hand, which he’d lowered to his side, although he still grasped the hammer. The not-fat boy hadn’t lowered his own weapon at all, a rusty-looking crowbar. But he was looking to Tommen, looking at his face, and glancing back at Sandor and Sansa.

 

The girl beside Tommen was one to watch, in Sandor’s opinion. She had looked at Tommen, yes, had caught his reaction. But then her gaze had glanced over Sansa and settled on him. She didn’t like the look of him, and he couldn’t blame her. If it came to it, that machete she was gripping might give her the reach on him. Maybe. But it might not come to that.

 

“Sansa?” Tommen’s eyes had passed over her, over her hair, before settling on Sandor. He hadn’t asked, but Sandor tugged down the bandanna anyway, in case there was any doubt. Tommen came a few steps closer, but the boy behind him shot a hand out to grab his arm.

 

The girl, her tangled snarl of brown hair lending several inches to her height, stepped ahead of the two of them. She stopped, eyes still on Sandor, not leaving him even as she addressed her companion.

 

“You know them?”

 

Sandor held his knife arm very still. He couldn’t see any guns, but it never hurt to be careful. And he’d rather this didn’t come to blows, if possible. Sansa was still behind him, still clinging to his arm, though she’d stopped all efforts to move around him.

 

Tommen nodded, gesturing at them with his unburdened hand. “Yes. Sandor used to work for my family. And Sansa- she- she knew my family too.”

 

The girl looked back at them. This revelation did not seem to give her any comfort. They all stood there, in some silent standoff.

 

Sansa moved to the side then, and he didn’t stop her. “We should-” She gestured at the bookstore they’d just exited. For a moment, nobody moved. Then, Tommen nodded, and began to move forward. The girl moved as well, stepping closer to and halting him with a hand to his chest, whispering. He replied, turning to face her after letting his eyes skitter from Sansa to Sandor again. The girl never removed her gaze from the pair of them.

 

Whatever argument they were having, Tommen advanced again afterwards, followed closely by his fellows. They stopped a little ways away from the door, waiting. Again, nobody moved. Sandor gripped the knife a little tighter. Tommen alone would have been one thing. Or if he, Sandor, had been alone.

 

The girl didn’t look likely to make the first move, and Tommen was looking to her now. Beside him, Sansa stirred, then walked forward, slowly. Her knife was on her hip, empty hands clasped in front of her. She entered the bookstore quickly. Sandor followed suit, unwilling to allow the others to separate them. He shouldered through sideways, his own knife still in hand. With the exception of Tommen, none had lowered their weapons.

 

Once inside, Sandor turned quickly, and joined Sansa. She’d perched on the arm of the dusty chair by the window. He stood beside her. His height could prove useful. A reminder that they were not to be taken lightly. Not that he thought he couldn’t handle things, if it came to it. Not a one of them could be out of their teens.

 

The others filed in slowly, the girl in the lead, with Tommen and the other boy close behind her. They arrayed themselves by the counter, at the other end of the store. A good amount of faded floorboards lay between them and the armchair Sansa had sat on.

 

Silence reigned again, each side taking the measure of the other. They were on the move, that much was obvious, by their clothes and half-slack packs. Sandor rather wished he and Sansa weren't quite so clean. That announced their sedentary status as much as anything could. Sansa’s bag lay beside them, the rectangular shapes of the books showing through the canvas. He could see the three of them glancing at it.

 

Sansa cleared her throat a little, moving further forward on her perch. “I’m Sansa.” She was looking between the two beside Tommen, gaze flickering back and forth. “This is Sandor.” She gestured to him. The words hung heavy in the air.

 

Tommen spoke then, moving forward a little, stepping away from the counter. “That’s Ben. And this is Juice.” He gestured to each of his companions in turn. Sansa nodded, murmuring hellos as though no one were gripping a machete, as though there were no crowbar in the larger boy’s hand.

 

Silence fell, and Sandor shifted his weight from one foot to another. The usual rules he stuck to might not apply here- he knew Tommen. Were he alone, he thought he would have let the boy pass, all unknowing. It would have been easier. The girl- Juice, as though that were a proper name- and Tommen were whispering again, the larger boy edging closer to interject every now and again. When they had begun to speak, he had moved in front of them, crowbar raised, though perhaps not as a direct threat. More like a reminder, a warning.

 

When they’d finished their conference, Tommen approached, crossing the empty floor between them. He stopped closer than he’d yet gotten. He glanced between them, and gestured to the floor. Sansa rose from her seat to lower herself, cross legged, to the floor. Tommen sat opposite her, his back to his companions. At this angle, the light from the window was slanted across his face, over one eye, but he didn’t blink.

 

Sandor crouched, lowering himself to his heels. He could be up in an instant if need be. Tommen spoke first, eyes on Sansa. “Have you seen anyone?”

 

She shook her head. “No. Have you?”

 

He grimaced. “No.” Tommen glanced towards Sandor, and he also shook his head.

 

Sansa shifted in her position, slightly more towards Sandor. “Myrcella?”

 

Tommen shrugged. “I don’t know. She was in Dorne. Visiting Trystane.”

 

If there were any places that might be relatively safe, Sandor had always thought Dorne would be one of them. He’d never met a man from the place, or a woman from that matter, who didn’t know how to take care of themselves. It didn't hurt that were many isolated Dornish communities. Early on, he’d entertained thoughts of going there himself. But that had been quashed once he'd seen the highway with his own eyes. To even enter the country, he'd have to be on foot. And to traverse the deserts alone, on foot- it would've been madness.

 

“So- how've you been?”

 

Tommen's lips quirked at the question, and Sandor couldn't help a little snort as well.

 

Sansa's own lips turned down a little at the corners. “You know what I mean.”

 

Tommen ran a hand through his hair, long enough that it nearly covered his eyes. “Alright, I guess. I mean-” He glanced around at his companions.”I've been with Juice and Ben. We look out for each other. They’re alright, you know.”

 

This last was directed towards Sandor. He looked at Tommen. “Are they.”

 

“Yeah.” Tommen did not break his gaze. “They’re just careful. I am too.”

 

Good. Anyone who wasn’t would die very quickly. Or more likely, had already died. The two at the other end of the store had their heads together, muttering as they watched closely.

 

Tommen was looking at Sansa now. “Do you want to go over, meet them properly?” His gaze flicked back to Sandor. “I don’t think they’d like you coming over. This’ll be better.” He was speaking clearly. More than loudly enough for his friends to hear.

 

“Sure.” Sandor looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged. “It’s Tommen.” Her hand briefly gripped her right wrist, a reminder that she was not as helpless as she looked. And her gun was under her sweater, as always. They hadn’t seen it, nor his.

 

He nodded. It was harder than he’d anticipated, watching her walk across the room. Tommen stood between her and the others, though for her sake or theirs, Sandor couldn’t tell. Sansa smiled at the pair of them, and actually stuck out her hand for them to shake. If nothing else, it caused the other boy- Ben- to stick the crowbar back in his belt, though his hand still hovered near it. Sansa was a better actress than he’d thought- smiling, twittering her questions. Or maybe she really was being genuine, trusting Tommen at his word about the others. Either way, with her height and build, she looked deceptively weak, slender, very non-threatening.

 

She was talking about the town now, warning that they’d already gotten everything worth taking, which made the other girl grimace. She glanced towards Sandor, gesturing him over. “We found a map- it shows the next town over too.” Her face was blank. Only her fingers, twisting at the hem of her sweater, betrayed her nerves. To Sandor, anyway.

 

He came over slowly, producing the map from his back pocket. Stopping a few feet away, he bent closer to their level, unfolding it on the counter. Belatedly, he wondered if he should’ve pulled his face-covering back up.

 

Tommen looked at the map closely, perhaps trying to set an example with his proximity to Sandor. “Have you been there, yet?”

 

“No.”

 

The girl sidled closer, trying to look at the map over Tommen’s shoulder, despite being a good half-foot shorter.

 

Tommen let his pack slip from his shoulder to the crook of his arm, opened it, and proceeded to rummage inside. He produced a thick sheaf of stained paper, which he laid out on the counter. “So, where else would be better?”

 

The paper turned out to be a set of maps, one of Westeros and several showing the different counties. Shuffling through them, he pulled the one detailing the Riverlands to the forefront, placing a fingertip on it.

 

“So if we’re here-”

 

Sandor shook his head, jabbing his own finger at the map. “Here. The Trident’s only a few days walk away.”

 

Tommen looked up at him, then glanced at his companion, hovering at his shoulder. “Oh. I thought we were further away.”

 

She shrugged, finally shouldering in front of him, and looking herself. She was still holding that machete, and closer up Sandor found it chipped and ill-cared for. She looked up at Sandor, square jaw set tight.

 

“You were there?”

 

He nodded. Some time ago, but that scarce made a difference for their purpose.

 

She licked her lips, cracked and dry. “The bridge?”

 

“When I was there, the big one was was damn near impossible to cross. The smaller ones a ways north were a bit better.”

 

She nodded. She was younger than he’d first thought, younger even than Tommen, if his guess was right.

 

“And- did you cross before that? The Red Fork?”

 

He shook his head. “No. I came around.”

 

She nodded, and abruptly began to scoop the maps up, folding them hastily as though to hide them from him. She shoved them at Tommen, who took them wordlessly, stowing them away again. Looking back at Sandor, she pushed that tangle of hair back from her forehead.

 

“Where did you say was good to go? To scavenge?”

 

He hadn’t. “Around here? Kirkwall might be alright.” He twitched the map in his hand. The next town was a bit smaller than this one, but all the stores were labeled on the map.

 

Sansa leaned forward over the counter, the better to see the girl from her position by Sandor’s elbow. “Longford might be a bit better. It’s bigger, anyway. Not as close though.” She glanced at the sunlight streaming through the window. “You won’t have time today though, not to get there and find someplace decent if you’re walking.”

 

The girl nodded, and backed away, turning when she reached her companions. Sandor could feel Sansa tensing against his arm.

 

“Juice-” Tommen pulled the girl aside, and whispered to her. She was shaking her head, pressing her lips together in a thin line. Ben did not join their talk, merely waiting by the door, hand resting on a bare, shiny knife- a meat cleaver that he’d thrust through his belt. Stupid, that. He’d gut himself if he ever tripped.

 

The other two pulled apart, and Tommen said, in a clearly audible undertone, “He’s alright.” The girl threw a narrow eyed glance at Sandor, before letting out a huff of breath and nodding. Tommen turned back towards Sandor, glancing between he and Sansa.

 

“I know you’ve got a place, but- I’m not asking to go there,” He added hastily. “I just mean- could you meet us tomorrow? Here?”

 

Sandor didn’t answer.

 

Sansa glanced at him, and seemingly took it upon herself to reply. “Sure.”

 

Tommen nodded, looking to Juice. She said nothing, arms crossed tightly across her chest. “In here then. Midday.” He nodded again, then exited the store. Ben followed closely after. Only Juice hesitated, Looking first to Sansa then to Sandor, before hurrying after her companions.

 

Sandor let a few seconds tick by, before exiting himself, Sansa on his heels. They were walking single file at a good clip, occasionally glancing back at them. Sandor watched as they disappeared between the buildings.

 

“Home?” Sansa was at his elbow again.

 

“No.” He glanced around, listening hard. He couldn’t hear them anymore, but they must’ve learned to be quiet. They’d be dead otherwise. Sansa had her bag on her shoulder, holding herself only a little lopsided with the weight.

 

“Car then?”

 

“No.” He headed towards a likely place, the little coffee shop they’d been in earlier.

 

Sansa held her silence as they entered, barricaded the door as best they could with the little tables and chairs, and retreated to the flat above the place. He swept through the place again, just to be sure, though they’d looked earlier. It was a good spot to spend the night. The door downstairs, the little balcony-deck thing up here- the windows were large enough that even he might get through, if they had the need. The lock on the door had been broken, but anyone entering would have to make a racket downstairs, pushing past all the furniture, or breaking a window.

 

Sandor sat with his back to the doorway, half leaning out on the deck. Sansa joined him, warm against his side.

 

“So. What do you think.”

 

He felt his lips twist. “I think they know we’ve got a place. And they’ll want to stay.”

 

“You think?”

 

He turned to look at her. “Why wouldn’t they?”

 

She was quiet for a moment. “Would that be a bad thing?”

 

“Maybe.” The sun was still high in the sky, but he pulled his bag towards them anyway. The candies they’d picked up at the bookstore were oversweet to his taste, but he ate his share anyway.

 

“Maybe how?”

 

He swallowed. She should _know,_ if only she’d stopped to think. She had been shut away from most of it, but still. “They might want it. And not want to share it.”

 

“Tommen wouldn’t.”

 

“You don’t know him well.”

 

She bit her lip. “No. But he wouldn’t.”

 

“I don’t think so either, Sansa. But it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him. People change. Especially when shit like this goes down. And we don’t know the others.”

 

“Could they? Take it away from us?”

 

He pushed another piece of the chalky candy into his mouth. “Maybe. If they have the weapons, or more people we don’t know about. If they’re all we’ve seen? Just them, with just those weapons? No. They’d be stupid to try, even without these.” He tapped the gun tucked against the crease of his thigh. “But they might be stupid. If they’re desperate enough. I don’t know.”

 

“And-” She looked up at him, her eyes round. “What about the other maybe?”

 

“Well. Maybe they’re what they seem. Maybe they want to join, not take. So we have more people here. Better defense, right?”

 

She nodded, watching him with those eyes.

 

“Well, yeah. Better defense. But now there’s more people to feed. We have to go further for food, ‘cause we use up what’s near to us quicker. Take bigger risks. And with so many people? Harder to lay low. If _they_ don’t want to take it, someone else will. Only reason no one’s tries is because no one knows. We’ve been quiet, don’t go out but when we have to.”

 

Sansa nodded, looking at her feet. “So what do we do? Tomorrow?”

 

He grimaced. Part of him was tempted to say they could leave at first light, before the rest of them had the time to reach here from whichever bolt-hole they’d decided to curl up in for the night. If they were still here, playing some sort of game, they’d have to show themselves before dark, or find someplace to spend the night anyway. And so long as they got to the van undetected, all would be well. The others had been walking, would have no chance of catching and following. Unless, of course, Tommen somehow knew where Sansa had been enrolled. It was a small chance. Doubtless Cersei had found out somehow, and might perhaps have mentioned it to her youngest son, between Sansa’s escape and the world going to shit.

 

“We go. And we listen. See what they’ve got to say. So long as we’re careful.” You could see the bookstore from here. They might be able to see any approach from afar, rather than waiting at the store themselves.

 

Sansa nodded, before tugging her bag towards her by the strap. “I get why we’re not going home just to come back tomorrow, we need to save the gas. But why can’t we wait in the car? It’s safer. And most of what we have _here_ is candy.” She wrinkled her nose.

 

“We’ll be fine for a night. If they’re still around, they don’t need to know which car is ours. Or that we _have_ a car.”

 

“Oh.” She settled back against him, taking a few moments to tug books out of her bag, arraying them in front of her before choosing one. “I found one of my favorites, you know, from when I was younger. And a bunch of new ones.” She began to describe her old favorite, the words washing over Sandor like cool water. Something about a flying dog and an empress.

 

He fixed his eyes out over the town. What of it he could see from this vantage. It was like keeping watch had been, when he’d kept watch with other groups. You didn’t let your eyes glaze over exactly, but you entered a state where anything out of the ordinarily would rouse you, instantly catch your attention.

 

It was almost pleasant to sit like this, the sun on his face, Sansa’s voice rising and falling in his ear as she went on about whatever it was that she was talking about now.

 

Her hand of his arm broke him out of his reverie. He blinked. He knew she’d stopped talking some time ago. The sun was a little lower in the sky than it had been. Looking over, he saw that she was buried in a book, knees drawn up, neck arched uncomfortably over the pages. The hand not holding the book was resting on his forearm, bare where he’d rolled up his sleeve.

 

She was too trusting, to let herself be so distracted in this place, without the safety of her fence. Not that he intended to fail her, but still.

 

She was engrossed in that book, chewing on a strand of hair. She lifted her hand from his arm to turn a page, and settled it back on his skin afterwards. She didn’t seem to notice she was doing it.

 

As distracted as she was, it was safe to look now. To take in the rich redness of her hair. The clean, smooth line of her jaw. To enjoy the sunburn that had formed on her cheekbones and over the bridge of her nose after today’s activities. She was humming under her breath, as she so often did.

 

She lifted her hand to turn another page, and he shook himself turning back to the window.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate my laptop. It seems to KNOW when I'm trying to edit past chapters, and picks the absolute worst time to shut down in hysteria. On another note, rereading previous chapters has led me to the conclusion that I'm the Queen of Unnecessary Commas. How's that for a noble title? Anyway, hope you enjoy. Back to editing for me.

Sansa alternated between watching the streets below and studying Sandor. Chances were better that he would see them coming before she could. She shifted uncomfortably, the straps of her heavy pack digging into her shoulders, into the knobs of her spine. She supposed it was too much to ask that they stop at the van before proceeding to the bookstore. Sandor would say it was reckless, taking stupid chances. And maybe he’d be right. But here they still were, and it was well past noon with no sign of Tommen and the others.

 

She shifted on her knees, pressing her back against the wall to try and relieve some of the pressure on her shoulders. Sansa didn’t know how Sandor could just kneel there for so long. You’d think the man was made of stone. It was a cooler than the previous day, and had been downright cold this morning. The sun had come out these past few hours, driving most of the chill away, and Sansa was glad of it.

 

“Should we meet them there? They might be watching. Like us.”

 

He shook his head, eyes not leaving the streets below. Puffing out her breath, she settled back on her haunches to wait, one hand curled loosely around the hilt of her knife, the other wrapped around Sandor’s ankle. He didn’t stir when she slipped her fingers under the hem of his jeans, running them over the bunched material of his sock. She allowed her fingers to play up, to reach the back of his calf, to run over the bony front. His skin was warm, the coating of hair on his shins rough on the pads of her fingers. She removed her hand, and rested it on the denim stretched tightly over his knee. She scratched the material lightly with her fingernails, listening to the faint sound it made.

 

Without looking at her, Sandor reached over and firmly removed her hand. She tried to capture his between her own, but he pulled away. She let a puff of breath escape her nose. There were two doors, piled furniture, one lock, and a stairwell between them and the streets. She had not been impeding his view. They’d been here for hours. Surely she was due _some_ distraction. She’d only wanted to touch, to run her fingers over his palm perhaps.

 

Grimacing, Sansa adjusted her position on the floor, letting the straps of her pack slip lower so that her burden rested entirely on the ground. She squinted at Sandor, studying him in the afternoon light. He was the most interesting thing to look at here; they’d seen no Rotters in this town at all, and the room they’d stayed the night in was entirely forgettable.

 

Sandor hardly seemed to blink despite the near blinding brightness of the sun through the open balcony door. It illuminated his face, exaggerating the gauntness of his cheekbones, the light distorting rather than illuminating his scars. There was little to no softness to Sandor these days. And indeed, little enough on her own body. The winter had been hard on the both of them.

 

She wanted to map his body with her fingers, to find what vestiges of softness remained. His throat was thick, with tendons that stood out when he grew angry. But the spot under his chin was still soft and smooth beneath the beard. He didn’t like when she touched him there, or in the little hollow above his collarbone. The vulnerability, perhaps. He always let her though, only pushing her hands away after a few moments, when he’d had enough.

 

Sansa looked back towards the street, swallowing hard. Part of her wished they were back at the house. They wouldn’t have to worry about potential home-invaders there. But she wanted to see them again. They’d been pale, dirty, and tired, but their eyes had been bright, their cheeks flushed. Their hearts had been beating as strongly as her own. Could she really turn away from that? She hadn’t with Sandor. Although he hadn’t given her that chance.

 

She glanced towards him again. They’d never discussed the issue, but Sansa rather thought that Sandor didn’t quite share her thoughts on the subject. It was safer if it was just the two of them, so he wanted it to remain so. Perhaps. But this was _Tommen_ after all. Sandor had to know him better than she did, having been around for so much of his life.

 

Tommen had always seemed like such a sweet boy, from the little Sansa had seen of him, away at school as he’d been. But then everyone had called Sansa a sweet girl. Sweet girls did not carry guns, or knives for that matter. Sweet girls didn’t kill. Didn’t feel a secret thrill at the thought of firing a gun again. But whatever she was Before, whatever Tommen had been, it didn’t matter now. People changed. She’d had to.

 

But still. He was so _young_. He was Bran’s age, if Sansa recalled correctly. It was a bittersweet thought. Would Bran be as tall? Would his shoulders be as broad as Rob’s now? The last time she’d seen him, she could still look down at him from a properly older-sister height. She’d used to laugh at him, because he spent so much time every morning checking his face, running his hands over his jaw. He’d been so eager to shave like Robb could. Bran had always said he’d grow a mustache, like the comic-book villains had.

 

She shook her head, grimacing as a strand of hair fell into her eyes. She tucked it back into one braid or another, turning back to Sandor.

 

“Should we-”

 

But he’d raised a hand, and she swallowed her words. Following the direction of his pointed finger, she saw the movement in the street below. Too quick, too deliberate to be Rotters. And slowing at they approached the bookstore’s intersection.

 

Sansa rose to her feet, grimacing as her knees cracked. Sandor pushed himself upright as well. She hitched her pack higher on her back, and gestured inquiringly to the door. Sandor watched the little figures approach the shop before nodding, following her down the stairs.

 

The tables and chairs seemed to take longer to remove than they’d taken to place the day before. Then it was out the door, and a quick trot to the bookstore. Sandor slowed as they approached. A limping figure was emerging from an alley along the edge of town, just beyond their goal. Sansa was close enough to see the deep gouges in its throat, the exposed muscle looking leathery and hard. It wandered back towards the main road, before standing aimlessly in the middle of the street. They waited around their corner with baited breath. Sansa eased her knife in its sheath.

 

When several long moments had gone by and no others had emerged, Sandor stepped to the side, away from her and softly cleared his throat. The thing turned towards him, leg dragging slightly against the asphalt. Sandor let it approach before moving forward, knife at the ready. Sansa watched from her position against the brick. He was still much quieter than she, boots seeming to make no sound against the street. She still couldn’t quite work out how he managed.

 

When the deed had been done and the corpse was properly dead, the two of them approached the bookstore. Sandor began to veer to the side, meaning perhaps to study and approach the door slowly, but Sansa strode directly to the entrance.

 

She opened the door, trusting that Sandor would be following close behind. The three of them were arrayed against the far wall, around that big leather armchair. Like the previous day, no one seemed to want to sit. Tommen and Juice had each claimed one of the wide arms of the chair to perch on, and Ben was leaning against the wall behind them. He stood straight when Sansa entered. When his eyes flicked up and behind her, she knew Sandor must have followed. He had that crowbar in hand, albeit not raised. Juice had the flat of that machete resting against her knee. Tommen’s hands were empty, though he clenched them as the door swung closed behind them.

 

Sansa turned her back to the counter, wishing yet again that she didn’t have this heavy pack on. Sandor stood beside her, knife still in hand. He hadn’t bothered to wipe it, she’d noticed. Nor had he tied on his scarf this morning, leaving his scars exposed to the open air.

 

The light beaming through the window illuminated the dust motes, golden and dancing, that filled the air. Sansa wondered if it showed arrogance or confidence, that the others had chosen a spot further away from the door.

 

For a time, nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

 

Then, Sandor planted his feet a bit wider, crossing his arms over his chest, dirtied knife resting on his bicep. The pose made him look even bigger.

 

Juice tensed, knuckles whitening on the hilt of her machete, but made no move to stand herself. Ben had raised his crowbar slightly at the movement, but glancing to his companions, lowered it once more. There were beads of sweat on his brow.

 

Sansa edged forward slightly. Sandor’s change of position had put him a little in front of her, more between herself and the others. But she rather thought his posturing was not helping.

 

“Well. You wanted us here. Talk.”

 

Sansa tried not to wince. They were already on edge. No need to push things further. But Tommen nodded, glancing to the girl beside him. She did not meet his gaze, her own eyes still on Sandor.

 

Tommen looked back at the pair of them, licking his lips. “We’re going to the Reach. To Old Oak, by the sea.”

 

He was watching them, green eyes so like his brothers. Sansa waited, but he didn’t continue. She opened her mouth, but Sandor beat her to it.

 

“And?”

 

“And- well.” Tommen swallowed, prominent adam’s apple bobbing. Sansa found herself watching that rather than his face, and forced her eyes upwards again. “We met a man. This winter.” He lapsed into silence again, glancing at Juice as though for help. She turned to face him finally, scowling.

 

“Just _show_ them, will you?”

 

“Yeah-” Tommen fumbled in his pack, the sound of the zip loud in the silence. He retrieved the maps they’d seen yesterday, and reached further inside. He removed a small bundle of plastic shopping bags, and stood, approaching them. His companions watched as he advanced.

 

Tommen hesitated, glancing between the pair of them before offering the bundle to Sandor. He took it with his knife-free hand and held it for a moment, before glancing at the knot atop the bundle. He passed it to Sansa, who pulled the tight knot open, trying not to tear the bags. Tommen was opening his maps along the counter again, and after a brief hesitation, Sandor drew Sansa behind the counter, the better to see while still facing the other two. Sansa pulled another stuffed bag from the first, and so on, balling the empty bags in her fist. The final bag contained a small booklet- no, a brochure of some kind. She’d had to make one in school once, about a fictional hotel.

 

It seemed a strange thing to carry so carefully. Sansa squinted at the print on the front- either it had been very poorly printed indeed, or it had encountered some accident at one point or another. Maybe both. The blocky black letters on the front proclaimed the brochure to be promoting a ‘Fort Aster’.

 

Sandor had leaned over her to look. “You’re headed there, then?” The picture on the front had smeared, but was recognizably a blocky fortress, surrounded by a double layer of chain-linked fence.

 

Tommen nodded, seemingly relieved not to have to explain.

 

“That won’t be safer than anywhere else. Could be worse- probably means that there’ll be a lot of them in there with you if you _can_ get in.” He indicated the street, where the corpse he had put down still lay.

 

Tommen’s fingers were drumming a staccato beat on the counter, and behind him Ben sidled forward to stand beside Juice.

 

“Open it.” Tommen bit his lip, smoothing his maps flat against the counter.

 

Sansa flipped the cover sheet open, spreading the brochure out to its full extent, eyes sliding over the contents. She froze, feeling as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. Looking back to the beginning, she read more thoroughly, pushing Sandor’s hands out of the way when he tried to pick it up. She flipped it over, surveying the back of it. It felt as though she were seeing the words and images through a long, blurry-sided tunnel. Wordlessly, she shoved the paper at Sandor. He took it, flipping it to stare at the front, as she had. It took longer than it had for her, but she could see the moment it penetrated, could feel it as he went rigid beside her.

 

She was watching his face, but could read nothing from the closed mask that had slid so smoothly over his features. He studied the thing closely before turning to Tommen, carefully folding the paper into its creased lines again.

 

“Where did you get this.”

 

Tommen opened his mouth, but Juice chose that moment to rise and approach, Ben on her heels. Sandor turned to face her, and Sansa could he his hand below the counter, gripping his knife hard.

 

“He told you. A man gave it to us.”

 

Sansa laughed, the sound hollow in her own ears.

 

Juice looked up at her, jaw set. “Didn’t you _read_ it?”

 

Of course she had. Couldn’t the girl _tell_?

 

Ben came up beside her, watching the two of them. It was Sandor he spoke to, although he glanced at Sansa as well. “You’re supposed to. Pass it on, I mean. It’s sort of the rules. It said so, in there. And the man who gave it to us- he said so too, didn’t he?”

 

Sansa found her voice. “What man? What happened?”

 

Tommen spoke up again, interrupting Juice, who’d begun to speak. Judging by her tone, this might have been a good thing, as she didn’t sound as though she wanted to explain anything.

 

“We met a man, this winter. Late, when all that snow was turning to rain. Were were trying to find someplace because- because we had to find someplace warm.” He glanced over at the scowling girl beside him before continuing. “And we met a man on the road. Men, actually. It was sort of an accident, but when they saw us, they were alright. They wanted to talk a bit, and when we tried to leave, they showed us this. Said they were headed there.”

 

Tommen pointed to his maps, and Sansa moved closer to see better, still feeling foggy and dreamlike. He was pointing to a long dotted line across his map. “The Strand will get you most of the way there, so you don’t get lost. But you could go other ways, I guess. It’s not far from Anthium.”

 

He glanced at Ben, who nodded reassuringly at him. The bigger boy looked at Sansa, before his gaze switched back to Sandor. “So you keep this see, and you pass it along. To somebody, so people know.”

 

Sandor just looked at him. Ben glanced at Tommen, and began to help him gather up the maps once more, leaving the leaflet and it’s wrappings behind. Juice backed away from the counter.

 

“Come on then.”

 

Ben turned towards the door, but Tommen remained facing them, eyes flicking between their faces.

 

“Wait-”

 

Had that been her voice? Why had she spoken so loudly? Why had she spoken at all?

 

The two at the door turned back. It should be uncomfortable having all three stare at her, and no doubt Sandor as well, thinking she was beyond idiotic for offering what she was about to offer. But he made no move to stop her.

 

“Do you want a place to stay? Rest up for a few days?”

 

Juice took a few steps back towards her. “We can find our own place.”

 

“Not like this one. It has a fence.”

 

Their attention sharpened at that.

 

“What kind of fence?”

 

“A good one. I’ve-” Sansa could feel Sandor press an elbow into her arm, but she carried on regardless. “I’ve been there. Since the beginning. And nothing’s got past it. _Gotten_ past it.” Was now really the right time for grammar? She swallowed, trying to dampen her dry throat.

 

The three of them turned to face each other, before turning back to Sansa.

 

“Hold on. We’ll just-” Juice ushered the other two out the door, and Sansa watched as they hurried across the street, stopping at that same corner she and Sandor had paused at earlier, huddled together.

 

She turned to face Sandor now, unsurprised to find him glaring at her. She glared right back. “I couldn’t just let them _leave_.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because- I think they’re alright. They seem alright. They’re just kids.” The  other boy looked no older than Tommen. “Besides, they might need it. You did. We should help them some. It might make a difference.”

 

In whether they made it or not? To this Fort Aster?

 

She reached up, and Sandor didn’t stop her as she pulled the creased pamphlet back to her level. The words which had caught her eye, ‘Sanctuary For All’, were not what interested her now. The pictures along the back, of a healing wound, drew her eye. Poor as the quality was, she could see clearly defined bite-marks along the edges of the missing chunk of flesh. The accompanying subtitles marked the pictures as one day, one week, two weeks, and one month after infection. The last image showed the wound, still red and sore-looking, but clearly healing.

 

“Anyone could’ve done that. Bitten him, for the picture.” Sandor was leaning over her shoulder again, breath hot on her cheek.

 

“Yeah.” Sansa traced the outline of the presumably healed wound. “But why would they?”

 

“People do crazy shit.”

 

Sansa looked over at him, drawing back a little to meet his eyes. “Whoever made this, they had a printer. And electricity. A computer, I guess.”

 

Still, he shook his head. “I don’t know.” Abruptly, he stuffed the brochure back into the bag. Sansa watched as he stuffed bag into bag, until it was as bundled as it had been when Tommen had produced it. Tying the top tightly, he swung his pack around one shoulder, stuffing the bags inside.

 

“So it’s alright? With them, I mean.”

 

He didn’t look happy. “It's your house.”

 

That had never stopped him from pitting his will against hers before. He usually won too. She nodded, turning to watch the discussion outside. What she could see of it, anyway. It took a little time, but they filed back in. Tommen hung back with Ben this time, Juice approaching them.

 

“We’ll come.”

 

It was almost rude, the way she said it. Without a please, or a thank you. Not that those mattered much these days, but what she’d just offered them was worth more than gold. A little gratitude wouldn't be amiss.

 

It reminded her a bit of Sandor, actually.

 

Sansa nodded, glancing up at him. It was only right, if they were to do this, that he accept her acquiescence. Sansa had been the one to offer, after all. He met her eyes, before turning to Juice, sweeping his gaze around to include the two boys in his reply.

 

“We’ve got a van around the corner.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. Sorry for the delay in updates. Life was distracting me from writing, so now I'm trying to let writing distract me from life. Plan to update again over the next few days.

It took more than a little shuffling to get everyone situated in the van. It was strange, Sansa thought, to be standing outside a car debating how to fit five people inside along with a cart full of various foodstuffs. Almost normal.

 

Except that they were all on edge. Sandor's face didn't reveal anything, as though this had all been his idea in the first place. But she didn't miss the way he kept his body between herself and the others. Juice had sheathed her machete, but her hand kept dipping down from her hip to touch the handle, as though to remind herself that it was still there. Ben alternated between scrubbing a hand through his hair and twisting his fingers this way and that around his crowbar. Even Tommen, who had not once touched his weapons since recognizing them, had a finger on that little hammer.

 

Sansa herself had to twist her fingers hard in the fabric of her sweater sleeve to keep them from drifting down her front, to where the gun was tucked under her clothes. She couldn't say why. There was no need to contribute to the tension in the air. Nor was there any need to broadcast the fact that she had a hidden weapon. She tried not to think about it.

 

It soon became abundantly clear that all three of the newcomers wouldn't fit in the trunk, not without significant and time consuming rearrangement. Juice, being the smallest, consented to wedge herself in behind the front seats, in front of the cart. Sansa slid into the passenger seat herself, stretching her neck from side to side as she did so. She and Sandor had fallen asleep sitting up against the wall last night, leaving her sore and uncomfortable.

 

As she buckled herself in, her eyes were drawn to the rear view mirror. Juice was uncomfortably close behind her, bracing herself on the seats as Sandor started the car. Sansa irrationally wished the girl would withdraw, give then some more space. It wasn't as though she had anywhere to go; she was already crammed between the cart and the seats as it was. She couldn't even sit down.

 

Sansa glanced at Sandor, noting that he too was spending a disproportionate amount of time looking at the rear view mirror. They could barely see the two in the back, just the tops of their heads. But Juice was right  _ there _ . Sansa could smell her now. She tried to ignore the scents of stale clothes, sweat, and an unwashed mouth. Hardly the girl’s fault, but it didn't make for a comfortable ride.

 

The two in the back were speaking quietly to one another, their words indistinguishable over the noise of the engine. Sansa watched in the mirror as Juice's lips thinned. Doubtless she wished she were able to join the discussion.

 

The ride back to the house seemed to go both slowly and all too quickly. Sansa noted that Sandor parked a little further away than was their norm, and wondered at it. Getting out, Sansa watched the two boys jump out of the trunk, watched Juice unfold herself from behind the cart, wincing as she stretched her legs.

 

A hand fell on her shoulder, and Sansa let Sandor steer her to the trunk. Understanding his need, she stood facing the others while he removed the full cart. That heavy pack was on her back again, pulling almost painfully on her shoulders.

 

The three others had grouped together, not talking, just looking around, taking in the area. Sansa knew what they saw: a small college town, with only a few storefronts, the bulk of it made up of the sort of houses young people would rent together. Taking the cart, she waited on Sandor to begin the walk to the house. The gun was itching against her hip again, and she clutched the cart’s handle tightly to keep them there.

 

Sandor seemed to draw himself up slightly, and gestured forwards. They walked abreast on the street, the cart creaking and squeaking under the weight of the goods, Sansa hurrying to keep up with the quick pace Sandor set.

 

By the time they’d reached the entrance to the overgrown path, the orange ball of the sun hung low in the sky. There was some daylight left, Sansa judged, but not more than an hour or so. There was an awkward pause as they hovered before the path. They would not be able to walk abreast here; someone would have to go first.

 

At Sandor’s urging, Sansa took the lead, Sandor walking close beside her with Tommen just behind him. The two others took the rear. She heard an intake of breath when the fence came into view, and glanced back as Sandor stepped around the cart to unlatch the gate.

 

Juice was swallowing hard, eyes on the fence, which overtopped her by a good head, and at the house within it. Ben’s eyes were round as he took it all in. Tommen was looking at the others, as though for reassurance, although they took no notice of him in their wonder. As Sandor swung the fence open, Juice suddenly moved, hand latching onto the side of Sansa’s cart.

 

“Wait.”

 

Behind her, Sandor grabbed her arm, jerking her back towards him, knife in hand between the two of them and the others.

 

But Juice made no move to draw the machete. On the contrary, she had backed up at Sandor’s movements, hands raised palm up in the air. “I only wanted to ask. There’s-” She licked her lips. “There’s no one else, is there?”

 

Sansa couldn’t help but to let out a laugh at that, even with Sandor tense as a bowstring behind her, his knife still held at the ready. The girl had waited ‘till  _ now _ to ask that?

 

The girl flushed at the reaction, but held her ground. Waiting.

 

“Just us.” Sandor’s deep rasp tickled the top of Sansa’s head. Juice nodded, lowering her hands to her sides. Her eyes were on Sandor’s knife. The tableau held for a moment, before Sandor lowered his arm and released Sansa. She made for the cart again, but Sandor stopped her with a hand to the shoulder.

 

“Go on, then.”

 

There was a beat where Sansa thought they would refuse, even leave, despite the appeal of the fence, of a roof over their heads. Then, arms determinedly crossed over his chest, Ben made the first move, squeezing past Sansa’s cart to go inside the border of the fence. The other two hastened to follow him. 

 

Sandor went through next, and Sansa followed, closing the gate behind them all. The stream was burbling, flowing along deep, stronger than it’d been last fall. The other three were slowly walking up the front path, with many a glance back at the two of them, and stopped before climbing the front steps. 

 

Sansa pushed the cart up beside them, wedging rocks under two of the wheels. She had a feeling they wouldn’t be carrying all this in now, perhaps not even tonight at all. Sandor unlocked the door, and let Sansa through first, before quickly making his own way inside. 

 

She stood with her back to the counter, watching as Sandor gathered up the boxes of ammo, and the useless shotgun, disappearing into their bedroom. The others came in, slowly, as Sandor emerged.

 

They were looking around, clustered close together by the door. Absurdly, Sansa wished they’d cleaned up some. Yesterday’s washing was still draped over the couch, and a collection of empty cans graced the counter, along with a light dusting of flour.

 

Sandor fell in beside her, and the pair of them looked at the newcomers. Who looked right back at them. When no one seemed likely to move, Sansa walked around the others and closed the door. The sound made them jump, though they’d watched her do it.

 

Her fingers felt twitchy, restless, and she wove them together as she went back to her spot by the stove. 

 

“We should eat. While we’ve got some light.”

 

There was only the one sack of flour left, but surely it would be more than enough to feed them all. She brought it down, opening the neck of the sack to check.

 

“We have our own food.”

 

Juice spoke tersely, and Sansa glanced at the packs each was toting. They looked rather slack. But she wouldn’t push, not now. She hurried to remove the stiff, drying clothes from the couch.

 

“Please,” She gestured towards it, and moved back to the stove. With the flour already out, as little as she wanted to eat more panbread, she felt she ought to make some. The flame, when she lit it, was near all orange and it took longer than usual to complete the cooking. She held up a can of soup inquiringly to Sandor, who nodded without really looking at it. She heated up the soup as well, as she rather suspected the stove might not turn on again after this time.

 

Sandor led the way into the living room, Sansa following close behind. The others were sitting side by side on the couch, eating small handfulls of- something. Trail mix maybe, or cereal perhaps. They’d shed their coats, and Sansa could see that all three were wearing the same sweater, a dark navy with a coat of arms on the left breast. With the light collars emerging from under each one, it made an almost amusing picture, the three of them all in uniform pressed together on the couch. Though she’d known them to be school age, all three suddenly looked younger to Sansa.

 

Sandor took the large chair facing them, and after some hesitation, glancing back at the dining room chairs, Sansa seated herself on the chair’s arm.

 

A time passed when the only sounds were of chewing and swallowing, each group plainly watching the other. The pan bread was hot in her belly with the soup, but it hadn’t settled well. Her stomach was all a roil. When the bowl had been wiped clean, Sansa was all too glad to rise, to light a candle or two to combat the gathering darkness.

 

She’d settled back to her perch when Tommen spoke.

 

“So. You’ve- you two, you’ve been here this whole time?”

 

“Not the whole time.” Sandor sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How about you tell us your story first?”

 

Tommen looked as though he was about to protest, but swallowed whatever he’d been going to say. It was  _ their _ place after all, Tommen and his friends the interlopers here.

 

“We- Ben, Juice and me, we all went to the same school. Winterdown.” Tommen glanced in Sansa’s direction, and she nodded. It was part of the reason she’d not gotten to know Tommen or his sister very well. They were only home for a few months of the year, if that.

 

Tommen continued. “I was there when it happened. I got a call from Mother, and she said I had to get home, that someone would be coming for me. But nobody came. So me and Ben- we roomed together- we shut the door, wouldn’t let anyone in. Or anything. But we saw plenty from the windows.”

 

“What did you do?” Sansa leaned into the back of the chair, trying to lift herself a little. The chair arm was harder than she liked, and she was going a little numb.

 

“Well. We waited, as long as we could. Someone got to the office, made an announcement. Said how to kill them, and that everyone should, and to get out. But that was the first day. We were in there for longer than that. I don't know- a week?” 

 

Tommen turned to Ben, who shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe longer. ‘Till we ran out of food, anyhow.”

 

Ben trailed off, and Tommen spoke up again. “So, we got out of there after that. We were only on the second floor, so we went out a window, because there were lots of them in the building. We- we could hear them.” Sansa grimaced. How many of the newly created Rotters had Tommen known? Could he have brought himself to put them down?

 

“That's where we’d met Juice. She was hiding in the cellar, and she brought us down there when the Biters were chasing us. We stayed down there for a while, until- until the food ran out. Then, we just kept on moving.”

 

Sansa felt Sandor stir against her arm, but he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched on for a moment, before Sansa allowed herself to ask the question that had been on the tip of her tongue while Tommen spoke.

 

“And- that man, who gave you the pamphlet- what did he say again?”

 

Tommen shook his head. “Just what we said. That he’d gotten it from someone else, and was going to go there. That he was giving it to us, and that we could go there too if we wanted, but to give the pamphlet to someone else before we did.”

 

The dark had really fallen now, the candles casting flickering lights over the faces turned towards her. When Juice sat forward, her neck and chest were cast in shadow. It left her face looking pale and disembodied, floating under that thick snarl of hair.

 

“So. We told ours. What's your story?”

 

They hadn’t. Not really, just the beginning of it. The first week. But Sansa answered anyway, when Sandor seemed to be holding his tongue. 

 

“There’s not much to tell. I’ve been here since the beginning, before all this. Sandor, he came along in late Fall, and he’s been here ever since. We do what we can.”

 

They all looked at the pair of them, Tommen in particular looking nonplussed as he glanced between them, then looked to the door, where the one bed was sitting in plain sight. Suddenly, Sansa wanted away from them, away from the strange faces invading her home. The feeling of wrongness, of seeing these people sitting on her couch near overwhelmed her. There had been only Sandor for so long.

 

She slid to her feet, thighs tingling. “Well. Bathrooms in there, if you fill the bucket you have to empty it. There's a tub in the bathroom if you want to wash some, but you’d need to get water from outside.” Her own voice sounded overly jaunty, as though she were host of some strange bed and breakfast. But Sandor followed her quickly enough when she retreated into the bedroom with one of the candles, hauling her heavy pack in after her.

 

As the door closed behind them, she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. This room was as it should be, empty but for the two of them. Sansa glanced towards the dresser before deciding against it. It would make a rather obvious noise if she moved it, and might seem overly hostile. But she jammed her desk chair under the door handle. Just in case. Sandor watched her do that, and tugged lightly at both the chair and the door handle, as though to test them. Apparently satisfied, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

 

Sansa hastened togather  up the clean laundry she’d dumped onto the bed before, balling it all up tightly and tossing it atop the dresser. With a glance at the door, she quickly stripped, changing into what she thought of as her ‘Indoor’ clothing. Sturdy jeans, undershirt, thick sweater- all things she might wear to go out, but clean.

 

All that time, Sandor had made no move to rise from the foot of the bed. When Sansa crawled under the covers, he made as though to join her, but she stopped him with a palm to the chest. She could see the deep, dark stains on his jeans. She’d spent all day recently cleaning these sheets of their winter stink.

 

With a huff of breath, Sandor removed his jeans, quickly replacing them with the track pants, his only other option. Sansa felt the mattress dip as he settled himself beside her, though he made no move to join her under the covers. He had put his gun back into the front of his pants again, instead of placing it on the nightstand as Sansa had done. She blew out the candle, blinking at the sudden darkness.

 

She felt cold, chilled to the bone despite the mild night and the warmth of Sandors bulk beside her. He didn't seem to be much relaxed either, though she could have predicted that. He haphazardly draped the covers over his lap, but was sitting up in bed, his torso held stiffly upright. It felt wrong, hearing the muffled voices in the far room. Hearing the movement of other bodies, with unfamiliar gaits.

 

The minutes ticked by, both Sansa and Sandor sitting in silence. The voices quieted, and the flickering light that had shone under the door went out. Sansa rolled to her side, and pushed herself up. In the darkness, she felt her way to Sandors face, his ear.

 

“Do you think they've set a watch?”

 

He nodded, and she felt the rasp of his beard against her cheek.

 

“Should we?’

 

Sandor turned to face her, keeping his voice to a low murmur, though he didn’t whisper as she had.

 

“Doesn't matter. I won't be able to sleep while they're in there. You might as well get some rest.”

 

Sansa wasn't all that sure she could either. The day’s conversation had left her feeling numb, shell-shocked. She had nothing more to say, but she pressed her face to his ear again anyway. The warmth he gave off grounded her some. The dark usually felt enveloping, and invited contemplation. The proof of another day gone by, and the both of them still alive. Tonight the darkness felt heavy, oppressive.

 

“So. What do we do?”

 

Sandor made no answer. He got to his feet and moved to sit on the desk, close by the side of the bed. He took the lightest blanket with him, draped like a cloak over his shoulders. Sansa scooted to the far edge of the bed, the better to be closer to him.

 

He sat in silence, looking down at his hands. Sansa suddenly wished he’d come back. She felt alone in the big bed by herself. Surely he could keep watch just as well from here.

 

“Do you think- do you think this was a mistake?”

 

The question hung in the air. Sandor addressed his hands as he replied, “Maybe. I don’t know. We’ll have to find out.”

 

“They seem alright.” Sansa wondered which one of them she was trying to reassure.

 

“They do.”

 

And he spoke no more. Sansa squirmed under the covers. There was no sound, no movement to indicate the presence of three other people in the house, but she fancied she could sense it,  _ smell _ it maybe. It put her on edge.

 

Why was it so different now? Sandor had been more aggressive towards her than these three, at least in the beginning. She’d been downright scared of  _ him _ . Sansa hadn’t known anything of Sandor, not even what little she knew of Tommen. And he was big, nearly a giant among men, and she’d been alone then. These were three schoolchildren, who she herself had invited here, and yet she couldn’t sleep.

 

Bunching a corner of the covers under her cheek where it lay atop the pillow, Sansa watched what little she could see of Sandor in the darkness. He would wake her at any disturbance, and she knew he wouldn’t let any harm come to her. He’d proven that time and time again. And besides, they had all the guns in the house right here. So why was it so hard to even close her eyes?

 

Maybe it was the alone bit. She had more to lose now than she’d had before.

 

She scooted back on the bed, and patted the space next to her. At first she thought he hadn’t heard, but then he rose, and sat on the edge of the bed beside her. Not exactly what she’d wanted, but Sansa would take it. She took the hand nearest her, and pulled it atop her head. He let out a huff of breath that was almost a laugh, and pushed his fingers through her hair.


	24. Chapter 24

The next day passed quick and tense. Sansa was doing what she could to ingratiate herself with their 'guests’, but it didn’t seem to be doing much good from what Sandor could see. Tommen was quiet and withdrawn, and the other boy seemed to follow his lead. The girl seemed as though she might've been receptive with Sansa alone, but not with Sandor as well.

 

It made sense- why would they bother talking much with a girl they’d be leaving soon?

 

He spent the day sat at the table by the door, watching all the goings in that he could. Water was hauled in from outside, once Juice had grudgingly asked Sansa if they could borrow a few pots. The three of them took it in turns to disappear into the bathroom, the other two sitting by the door. After a time, all three were eventually pink-cheeked and shivering in wet clothes.

 

Sansa was dodging in and out of the house, bringing in the goods that they'd gathered over the past few days. She didn't ask Sandor for help, and he didn't offer any. 

 

He would have to sleep tonight- there were only so many days he could go without. Sansa might keep watch if he asked, but he didn't think that was all that necessary now. If they had been going to attack, they would have. Although that was no reason to become careless. The bigger worry was the food that Sansa was bringing in to stash away in the cabinets. Tommen and his group had no use for the remainder of the flour, but the cans and jars they'd found? By the look of these three, they hadn't been eating all that well. 

 

Sansa seemed to have had the same thought-out she was taking quite some time on each trip, and the goods she brought in seemed diminished. Good. If the others tried to take some before departing, as Sandor suspected they might, he would not stop them. He and Sansa had the car, and the ability to get more. No blood needed to be spilled over so small a thing. There was only so much they'd be able to carry in those packs anyway, but it was good to hide some away.

 

The day passed, the night came, and the two of them were shut in the room again. He ached deep along his spine, but he wouldn't lay down proper. Not tonight. With any luck, the others would be gone in the morning.

 

“Outside?” He spoke quietly. The others might hear that he was speaking, but would have no clarity as to what was being said.

 

She sat in the middle of the bed, nodding as she let down the knot she’d pulled her hair into. “Under the front stairs. As much as I thought would work.”

 

He nodded his approval, and sat down himself, removing his boots and watching the girl beside him. Sansa was quiet. Thoughtful-quiet, not nervous-quiet. He let out a sigh. Unless he was much mistaken, he knew what was eating at her.

 

“Go on then.”

 

She watched him, brush suspended over her head. Then, she began to move again. Slowly. She drew the brush through her hair, almost as carefully as when she had been doing it for him. She kept her eyes on her lap, on her folded legs against the comforter. It wasn’t late enough for sleep yet. The sun had barely gone down. But it was good, to be away from the three in the outer room.

 

“What do you think we should do?”

 

It was the second time she’d asked that question, and he had no more answers for her than he’d had then. He watched as Sansa ran the brush through her hair in smooth, slow strokes. The room was growing ever dimmer- soon her outline would be harder to see.

 

What did he think? It was fucking dangerous out there, that’s what he thought. The world had never been a safe place, but now it seemed every aspect of it had teeth. So many things could kill you. A cold night in the rain, eating the wrong food, taking a careless piss in the dark- even the people watching your back. Of course those were only the easy ones- the ones you could try to avoid, if you weren't too stupid. The rest of it, that was another story. The dirty, ugly, biting rest of it. That came down to dumb luck. Jenkins had died, the tough old bastard. Burton too, and all the rest. Competent men all. Yet they were dead. For contrast, here sat Sansa, saved by dumb luck.

 

“Sandor?”

 

He came back to himself, realizing she was looking at him. Her eyes were big and round, as he’d not seen them in days. It was the way she looked when she was telling her stories, from a book or from her mind. Open and raw. After a moment, Sandor had to look away. Why should this place, this Fort Aster, be any different? It was a story, just like all the rest.

 

“It’s not true.” He watched his hands as he spoke.

 

She didn’t play any games, didn’t dance around the subject. “How do you  _ know _ ?”

 

“Because it never is. Any of them.” He hadn’t told her about those places, or about those months before he’d come to this small square of tranquility in the midst of the madness. There was no need to slice open old wounds, to poke at dashed hopes.

 

“Where’ve you been? Before?”

 

She’d asked him before, and he’d never answered. She had not pushed in months. But how could you explain that to this girl? The three outside, they might have more stories than Sandor did. He at least had found a refuge, while they seemed to have been in the thick of it. For all that he didn’t really know them, he had a feeling that it would take far fewer words to explain to them then it would to the little bird. She thought she knew now, what there was out there, because they’d gone for a few car rides.

 

“Everywhere. Few places we thought would be safe. Some even promised that they were. But it was never true.” 

 

‘We’ had encompassed more people than he wanted to think of. Some he’d even liked. Some of them he’d killed, with his hand or through his choices. Sansa belonged here, safely out of that group. But then, here wasn’t safe either. Three school children were hardly the worst of what must find them here in time. They’d been lucky so far, but luck wouldn’t hold. It never did. 

 

The small hand found his knee, and he could feel the coolness of it seep through the layer of cloth. She’d moved closer to where he sat on the bed, looking at him intently with those round eyes. It was hard to see the color in the dimming light, and Sandor wished for a candle. So many things in the world were dim and dull. But she shone.

 

“I think we should go.” Her eyes were earnest and her hand tightened over his knee. Sandor closed his eyes, but he’d known that she’d want to. Maybe she was even right.

 

“You said we’d die here, sometime. That something would get us eventually.” Her fingers scraped against the fabric of his pants, the soft noise grating to Sandor’s ears. “If that’s true, why not  _ try _ ?”

 

_ We are trying. _ He almost said it, wanted to throw the words in her face, but he checked himself. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to look up at her, look into her eyes. She was scant inches away from his face, and one look at the pleading in her eyes, at the determined set of her jaw, and he knew. Groaning, he allowed himself to sink backwards against their pillows.

 

“Sandor? The other places- they didn’t  _ say _ they had a cure, did they? They just said they were safe?”

 

He draped an arm over his eyes, ignoring her words. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach didn’t recede with the world blocked out so, but it became a little easier to think. Sansa was tugging on his arm, but lightly, and she did not attempt to speak to him. The tugging slowed, and finally ceased as Sandor lay there and thought.

 

She would go eventually. There was no doubt about that. And where she would go, he would follow. There was no questioning that either. The comforting blackness of the crook of his arm was good. The mattress under his back, the pillows beneath his head- how long would he have that now? Not long enough, that was for sure.

 

Because if they were to go, then they’d best go early in the season, to give themselves time, and before-

 

“We’ll go with them. You know that, right?”

 

He spoke against the trailing cloth of his sleeve, feeling the roughness of the fabric against his lips. Sansa made no reply, but after a moment she lay down beside him, bones and softness curled around his side.

 

“Will they let us?”

 

“Why not? They followed us in here quickly enough.” Tommen likely had vouched for the pair of them to his fellows, and once here, Tommen’s reassurances would have been validated. The safety of a roof, no assaults on their person or supplies- it was not trust certainly, but it was a start. It would help to smooth the way that with the pair of them came ample food, not to mention a car. While two was much better than one on the road, a larger party would serve their purposes well. If those three were still alive and kicking, they had to be decent at taking care of themselves.

 

“Should we talk to them? In the morning?”

 

They might have left come daylight. “Right. In the morning.”

 

Sandor had planned on sitting up against the headboard to sleep, but it was comfortable here. If the others wanted to have done something, it would have been done. Part of the reason this whole bloody plan might just work.

 

Sansa stilled against him, and for several hours, the pair of them just lay there in silence. He wondered what she was thinking, and for once she didn’t tell him. Her breaths evened out, took on the steady cadence of sleep, but rest did not come quickly for Sandor. The sick feeling in his gut only intensified as he thought of all there was to do in the morning. They would not leave tomorrow, certainly, but his hours in the house were numbered. Likely, one way or another, he’d never see it again. It hurt to think.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Hi! Keep an eye out throughout the week for more updates.

When the morning came, Sansa found the others huddled together, breaking off their murmuring when she entered the main room. She smiled a good morning, receiving a weak smile back from Tommen, and nods from the other two. She’d tried to get to know them some yesterday, but Ben had seemed almost embarrassed when she’d tried to help bring in water. Juice had emerged from the bathroom, hair plastered into a lumpy mat along the top of her head, and Sansa had thought to offer her comb. The girl had declined, but she hadn't been rude about it, which was something. Their packs were leaning against the couch, closed, and Sansa couldn't see the blankets they’d been using. Ben was reaching for his jacket, hanging dry and clean over the bathroom door.

 

“Would you like some breakfast?” The words came out quickly, unthinkingly. Ben froze where he stood, looking first at Sansa, and then towards Juice.

 

“There’s some bread, and-” Sansa groped in the cabinets before producing a large can of sugared pineapples. Perfect- it was large, much too large for she and Sandor to share alone. She turned to show it to them, and Tommen bit his lip. Ben was looking almost pleadingly at Juice, who grudgingly nodded.

 

There were not enough chairs for them all to sit at the table, so they sat together on the floor, grouped around the open can. Sansa sat back on her heels, beside Sandor, who was remaining quiet this morning. He was sitting himself rather than kneeling, as he usually did. He still towered over the rest of them, but it was something.

 

Sansa divided the panbread between them, and they took it in turns to dip it into the sweet container of fruit. The sugar was a real treat, and she savored every bite. The others ate quickly, catching stray drops of juice with fingers or tongues. Sansa chewed her first bite slowly, watching them. It went down her throat thickly, and she took a sip of water to rid herself of the sensation.

 

“We wanted to talk.”

 

The other three looked up from their chewing as one. For the most part, they’d kept their silence over the past few days, and Sansa’s friendly overtures had gone unreturned.

 

Tommen swallowed a mouthful of bread. “Talk about what?”

 

Sansa took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “We want to go to this place. And we though- it’s safer, with more people. For everybody.” Although she was confident of their response, she bit the inside of her cheek anyway, waiting.

 

“No.”

 

That came from Juice, and Sansa flicked her eyes over to look at her. She was kneeling on the carpeted floor, bread suspended between the can and her mouth, with a small mound of yellow fruit atop it.

 

“Why?” The girl’s immediate response took Sansa aback- she had been so  _ sure _ that they would be accepting, would understand the sense of it. Juice looked up at Sandor before looking back at Sansa. This close, her face looked pinched and piggish.

 

“We’ve been fine. We don’t  _ need  _ you.”

 

Sandor shifted forwards slightly, and Juice drew back, though he only rested his elbows on his knees. When he spoke, his voice was low and calm.

 

“People need people now. If they’re out there. The more, the better. You ought to know that.”

 

Juice stiffened as he spoke, seeming to puff herself up a little bit. “I  _ do _ know that. We have people. If we wanted more, why you?”

 

That was pushing a little, Sansa thought. If anything, they were the best one could hope for. Both known to a member of the group, bringing weapons, supplies, and- well-  _ Sandor _ with them. The man was an asset in and of himself. But she kept her silence for now. At least the other two didn’t seem to be as concerned with having the pair of them along. On the contrary, Tommen had opened his mouth as though he wanted to argue with his friend, although he too remained silent.

 

“You were walking when we found you. Can any of you drive?” Sandor was still speaking slowly, quietly. 

 

Juice glanced over at Ben, who had been watching the exchange without stopping his eating. He swallowed too quickly when he met her gaze, coughing until Tommen pounded him on the back, and passed over a bottle of water. Wiping his mouth, he lowered the bottle, cheeks flushed. “Sort of. I mean, a little.” But he didn’t look very confident in his statement.

 

“It’s not just that.” They all looked at her, and Sansa carried on, directing her words to Juice, though she tried to catch Tommen’s eye as well. “He can start a car without needing keys, and he can fix them too.” That last wasn’t strictly true, not for some things. But he’d told her he could do most small repairs, given the time and materials. At least enough to be getting on with. “He can hunt too.” They’d whiled away the winter in bed, and sometimes Sandor had produced the twine, demonstrating the trap he used for his rabbits. Sansa thought she could duplicate it, but felt it best not to mention that. Although both Sansa and Sandor were offering their help and assets, it was Sandor who was on trial here.

 

Juice was tucking her chin now, still eyeing Sandor. But she didn’t say anything. It was Tommen who replied, touching her arm as he did so. “Yeah. I mean- yes. We’d be glad to have you.”

 

They didn’t look glad- Tommen was earnest, Ben wary, and Juice resentful. But it was enough. Sansa nodded.

 

“When do you think we should go?”

 

The question was half directed towards Tommen, half towards Sandor, but both answered her.

 

“We were going to go today-”

 

“In a day or two is best.”

 

Juice’s head came up again at that. “Tomorrow.”

 

Sandor shrugged, rising to his feet. “Fine.” Sansa swallowed the last of her bread, and rose along with him, following to study the contents of their pantry. The others finished the food quickly enough. Sansa turned to face them.

 

“Could you help?” It would be good to start this thing together, and perhaps it would be good to remind them of what she and Sandor brought to the table. Under her direction, they began the process of carrying out all the food that Sansa had spent the previous day bringing in. All the food, from the pantry and their stash under the steps, was brought to the van and packed tightly into the trunk. With five of them, they would need all the space they could muster. Tommen made a few timid comments about positioning the food, but the others remained quiet.

 

When they came back in, panting slightly, Sansa suddenly realized that it was happening now. She’d known she wanted to leave, yes, but she’d somehow thought there would be more time. Tomorrow, they’d be leaving. The thought tightened her throat some, and she abruptly pushed her way into the bedroom, shouldering past Sandor. She sat at the edge of the bed, looking down at the pack still full of books. The door softly closed, and she looked up to see Sandor standing there.

 

Turning her gaze back to her pack, she swung it up into her lap, unzipped the top, and unceremoniously dumped the books onto the bed. Leaving them there, she approached the dresser. Many clothes were clean- she had a much bigger wardrobe than was needed these days. She pawed between socks and underwear, wondering at one shirt over another. Sandor pushed her aside, and closed the drawer. She looked up at him licking her lips. They were dry and cracked. He met her gaze, before pointing towards the the heap of his jeans on the bedroom floor. 

 

“Wash those?”

 

She nodded, and stepped away from him to gather up the pile of denim. She noticed, in an abstract ort of way, that her fingers were trembling. She clenched her hands tightly into fists, and pulled the jeans tight against her torso. She made her way to the stream, Sandor following with his dirtied jacket. She dropped the jeans there, and walked back into the house for the soap, brushing past Sandor without looking at him. The others were talking quietly amongst themselves as she retrieved what she needed. Their meager belongings were already packed- there was no more preparation for  _ them. _

 

Sandor was where she’d left him, waiting patiently with the coat in his arms. Sansa moved past him, dropping to her knees and rolling up her sleeves. The wetness still in the ground soaked into the knees of her jeans, and when she plunged her hands into the water, it was bitterly cold, sending numbing tingles up her hands and wrists. There was no need to bring in water anymore- the freshness of the stream was not a priority now, as no one would be living here in short order. Tightness spread across her shoulders at the thought, and she leaned hard into her work. Sandor knelt beside her, working on the jacket. The stains would not come out properly, would leave their marks, but at least they would be clean.

 

Sandor helped her to wring them out, as hard as they could, removing all the water they could. Sansa hung them over the rail, the better to dry in the gentle breeze. She walked back in, Sandor following. She took up the two cans of soup that had been left from their supplies, and pushed one at Ben, who took it almost reflexively, with a surprised look on his face.

 

Sansa strode into the bedroom, and watched to ensure Sandor closed the door behind them. She thumped the can of soup down on the edge of the table, and turned to the books on the bed. The hollow part of the nightstand was empty, and Sansa began to pile the books into the space. They wouldn’t fit in the haphazard stacks she’d made, and she pulled them out again, taking a deep breath. Starting more slowly, Sansa arranged the books as though they were on a shelf, stacking them upright and on top of one another. It took some organizing and sorting, which calmed her senses. As she finished, she sat back with her hands on her thighs to examine her handiwork. It was bittersweet to see them arrayed so. She hadn’t even gotten to read them. The book with the pale blue cover had a page corner turned down inside. She’d done it the night they’d spent in town, when she’d taken the time to read a chapter or two of her favorite childhood book.

 

Pulling her gaze away, she looked up at Sandor. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, just watching her. Most of their things were packed; and Sandor had pushed the rest of their spare ammo into his own large pack. All that remained was blankets, what clothes Sansa would chose to bring, and Sandor’s drying ones. He had a bottle in his hand- a half empty one, with a dark amber-colored liquid inside. An empty water bottle was in his other hand, and he was carefully tipping it full of the whisky. Sansa wrinkled her nose- there were other things, surely, that he could bring. The whiskey had been harsh to her taste, and even Sandor had not seemed to like it much.

 

He looked up at her as he screwed the cap back on, tight. “Not for drinking. It could be useful.”

 

That made sense. As a cleaning agent, or firestarter perhaps. She fetched another empty bottle from the pile in the closet, one of the uncrumpled ones, and held it for him as he filled that up too. There wasn't much left in the square-shaped bottle after that, and Sandor drank it down with a grimace. Sansa tucked the newly filled water bottles into her own empty pack, and moved to the closet. They’d put a significant dent into their stores this winter, but a few half filled bottles remained. She chose the liquor Sandor had proclaimed ‘too fucking sweet’ for herself, and fetched him the rest of the brandy.

 

He watched as she brought both the bottles over, offering them to him. He took the one she’d chosen for him, uncorking the bottle and taking a sip. 

 

“Not too much.”

 

Sansa nodded her agreement. They would likely leave early in the morning, and an aching head wouldn’t be much good for an early start. She took a sip from her own bottle, shivering at the sugary-sweet burn. She wished for wine for a moment, but then pushed the thought aside. She’d been too attached to wine before. You could drink that all day and not worry about becoming too drunk- that was not what she needed now. Cersei had pushed it on her at first, but when she’d discovered the swimming calmness that came with an excess of the drink, she’d begun to drink in her own time as well. But the drink had made her too honest, and braver than she should have been. Joffrey hadn’t liked that, but it was difficult for Sansa to stop once she’d started. But she’d done it.

 

She took another sip, wondering at the ache deep inside when she thought of leaving the house. It was safe here. More than that, it was  _ her _ safety here. Now her’s and Sandor’s really. But she’d thought it would always be here, for her to seek refuge behind the fence and walls. And she was about to just walk away? But then how could she ignore the call of a  _ cure _ ? Those pictures were real, they had to be.

 

A hand wrapped around her hip brought her eyes up to Sandor’s face. His own bottle was hanging loosely from his hand, and he put it on the floor as she watched. He wasn't pulling at her, but she climbed on the bed anyway, putting her bottle on the bedside table and straddling his lap with her thighs spread wide over his own. Sansa closed her eyes, pressing her palms flat against his shoulders for balance. He shifted the pair of the back on the bed, until his back was against the headboard. Sansa thought for a moment of the condoms in the nightstand drawer- she should pack those. Later.

 

If this were their last night here, she ought to enjoy it.

 

She flinched away from that thought, trying to focus on the hands running up her sides, from hipbone to her ribs. But his hands stilled on her, and she opened her eyes.

 

“What is it?” Sandor was watching her, hands resting heavily on the sides of her torso. Sansa wished that he’d move them, resume his caresses.

 

“Nothing.” His touch had been comforting rather than stirring, but she wanted it to continue. “I just- I don’t want to go.” It felt silly to say the words, but there they were.

 

He just looked at her for a long moment. Then he sat up, almost nose to nose with her, eyes narrowed. She tried to pull back some, but he still had a grip on her ribs.

 

“Then why  _ should  _ we?” She tried to pull away from his grip, but he held her firm. “This is all  _ you. _ It’s what  _ you _ wanted.”

 

_ We don’t have to _ . It would be an easy thing to say, but she didn’t say it. She gasped, arms flying back to catch herself as he pushed her away from him. For a frightening moment she thought she might slide off the bed, but then the mattress hit her back. Pushing herself up on her elbows, she glared at him. Why was he being so difficult? He had to know it wasn’t the leaving she wanted, it was the hope for better, for everything to be over.

 

“ _ You _ don’t have to.” She spit the words out, but low. The others didn’t need to hear this, not after the push it had taken to get Juice to see reason. It was true though. He didn’t.

 

He just looked at the ceiling for a long moment, before sitting up, picking up the bottle again, and taking a long swig from it.

 

“You don’t.” It wasn’t as though they’d known each other Before- she was just someone thrown in with him by chance. A friend, yes, but it was not as though-

 

“Yes I do.” The words came from gritted teeth, and he took another pull at the bottle. Sansa snorted, sitting up herself. She stood, circling around the bed to retrieve her own drink without climbing over him.

 

“You really don’t. You can stay here, you don’t have to leave.” Certainly she’d bought the place, but what was money now? It was nearly as much his house now as it was hers. She didn’t like the thought of him staying and her leaving. It brought a tightness to her throat that made swallowing the liquor painful. She watched as Sandor took another sip of his own. Father had always used a glass, a thick frosted tumbler. She averted her eyes.

 

“I mean it,” She began, but he cut across her before she could finish.

 

“Just stop.” Sansa looked up to see him slumped back on the pillows, bottle in hand. He took another drink.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late update. This was supposed to be done days ago. But I was sick, and all that good stuff. Many excuses, and a lot of them are pathetic. I should have know to just stay up till three AM, that always does the trick. Think I'm actually staying up all night tonight, to ensure I'm up early tomorrow. Healthy, right?

Sansa slept fitfully that night, and though Sandor did not stir beside her, she rather though he might have as well. He certainly sat up quickly enough when the sun rose. They dressed for the day silently, pushing feet into boots, and in Sansa’s case, hurriedly shoving a few more things into the bag. She grimaced, looking down at the truly pathetic supply of toiletries. She was running low on tampons as it was. She did not like to think what she would have to resort to when they ran out. Perhaps Juice had some?

 

With a brief glance back at Sandor, who avoided her eyes, she made her way into the living room, noting as she opened the door that she and Sandor seemed to have awoken before the other three. They were awake right enough, but still rolling out from under blankets and pushing sleep-mussed hair out of their eyes.

 

Sansa used the bathroom first, brushing her teeth quickly with the stale remnants of the mug of water resting on the edge of the sink. As she exited, Sandor brushing past her for his turn, she made a mental note to empty and clean the bucket before they left. It wouldn’t do to come back to a foul smelling house.

 

And she would come back. One day. She would. 

 

By the time Sandor had emerged, Sansa had stripped the bed of it’s copious blankets and pillows, gathering them up as best she could. Sandor took the large bundle from her before it tumbled to the ground, quirking an eyebrow at her overtop of them.

 

Sansa shrugged. “We’ve got room in the car. We should use it.” There might be a few cold nights yet, perhaps even a few more nights of light snow.

 

Sandor hesitated, glancing around at the sleepy trio by the couch, before holding Sansa’s gaze for a long moment, and exiting the house with the bundle in his arms. It was the first time he’d really left her alone with them.

 

Sansa rattled through the cabinets, though she knew all the food was stored in the car by now. Juice had already shouldered her pack, perching on the edge of the couch, watching the two boys struggle to shove their bedrolls away. Sansa pressed her back to the counter’s edge, watching Juice watch the others. Did she have everything? Clothes, yes. Brush, soap, deodorant-

 

“Ah-”

 

They all looked over at her, but Sansa ignored them as she strode to the bathroom. Sandor’s toothbrush was still damp, and she gathered it up along with her own and the last two tubes of toothpaste. Carrying them back into the kitchen, excruciating a plastic bag from beneath the sink, wrapping it all up inside, and stowing it away in her pack.

 

That was it then. Sansa looked down at her feet, at the worn laces of her boots. They’d been almost new when she’d arrived here, but that was a long time ago. A gift for her last birthday, actually. From Joff’s Uncle Tyrion, or Sansa wouldn’t have brought them with her when she’d left. Of all the Lannisters, it was only he that she could truly stomach in the end. Cersei had been cold at best, and Joffrey’s Grandfather was more intimidating than she could have imagined. Jamie had liked to mock her at first, and though he had stopped in time, she had never grown over fond of him. Tyrion though- he was alright. He’d spoken gently to her, and taken pains to purchase gift he thought she might enjoy, when the occasion called for it. She’d spoken idly to him of hiking, of going out into the wilderness surrounding King’s Landing and climbing a mountain. So he’d bought her the boots for it. Joff had laughed, but Sansa had thanked him. It had only been a dream, chasing a feeling of freedom she was almost too afraid to snatch up. But she  _ had _ taken her freedom in the end, and she’d taken the boots with her. There were mountains here, but she’d not had the need to climb them. Not yet.

 

Sansa felt her eyes drawn to the golden head bobbing just above the back of the couch. Tommen was on his knees, fastening up his bag. He looked- well, he looked very Lannister. Both like Joffrey and not. The hair was the same, and the eyes. But Tommen had grown taller than his brother, and Joffrey had never grown a beard of any sort. Though Tommen’s whiskers looked more like cornsilk than anything else. 

 

Sansa snorted under her breath, and levered herself forward.

 

“Hey.”

 

Juice had looked up the moment Sansa had moved, and she took care to keep her voice calm. Non-threatening.

 

“You don’t have any spares, do you?”

 

Sansa gestured towards the girl’s general midriff. Juice looked down at herself before meeting Sansa’s eyes once more.

 

“No. Why does that matter?”

 

“Because I have plenty. They’ll be a bit big on you, but it’s better than nothing.” Sansa shrugged. “It’s not as though I can take it all with me. Someone might as well get some use from it.”

 

Juice bit her lip, but nodded. She followed Sansa into the bedroom quietly enough. Sansa pulled the dresser drawer open, shaking out a pair of jeans. She passed them to Juice, who held them up against herself. They would be far too long for her, and likely too big around the middle as well. But she was wearing a belt, and she could cuff them.

 

“Thanks.” It came out almost grudgingly, but it came.

 

“Your welcome.” Sansa slid open another drawer, pulling out a t-shirt and passing that to the girl as well. Likely that was all she would want- Sansa herself hadn’t packed much more, preferring to leave the room in her pack. Just in case.

 

She slid the top drawer open then, hesitating. She eyed the other girl’s chest doubtfully, but made her offer nonetheless.

 

“If you want a spare-”

 

But Juice was already shaking her head, eyes on the white cotton bra in Sansa’s hand. “Wouldn’t fit.” 

 

“Ah.” She put it back, sliding the drawers shut. “D’you want a sweater?”

 

“Maybe.” But Juice wasn’t watching as Sansa rifled through the sweaters hanging in the closet. She was scanning the room interestedly. There wasn’t much to see- the bed sat stripped, most of the contents of Sansa’s desk now residing in her pack.

 

Sansa pulled out a thick sweatshirt and held it out to her. “Here.”

 

But Juice didn’t reach for it. “Why do you- I mean, why are you with  _ him. _ ”

 

Sansa felt her lips thin. It was a fair enough question, if rudely stated. “Why is anybody with anybody?”

 

Juice was standing tall, though that still meant that the top of her head scarcely reached Sansa’s eyes. She spoke quietly, although she wasn’t whispering. “You don’t have to. If he said you did. Tommen says he wouldn’t, but I wanted to ask.” Sansa glanced towards the other room, but neither Tommen nor Ben were paying the pair of them the slightest attention.

 

“Tommen’s right. He wouldn’t.” She thrust the sweatshirt at the girl, who took reflexively it as it was pressed to her chest. It was one she’d bought up at the college. Gray, with bold orange and black lettering across the chest, and the college’s tiger mascot growling on the back. It was not the most inconspicuous of clothes, but it was warm. She turned away, but Juice caught her arm as she made for the other room.

 

“Some girls do. I just wanted you to know, you didn't have to anymore. If you were.”

 

Sansa turned back quickly, jerking her wrist free and not bothering to keep the bite from her voice. “And why would you think I would?” The girl didn’t even know her.

 

“Because some girls do, alright?” She did not seem abashed in the slightest by her own assumptions, looking up at Sansa with defiant eyes. “They find some guy, a man who can help them, and then they fuck him so he will. It’s how they make it, and it’s not bad. Not if they had to. I wanted to make sure.” 

 

“What. If I was,  _ you’d _ keep me safe?”

 

“Yeah. Me, Ben, and Tommen. We’ve done pretty well so far.”

 

“So have I.  _ We. _ ”

 

They just looked at each other for a moment, Sansa standing arms akimbo by the closet, Juice with her arms crossed opposite her. Finally, Sana shook her head, and turned her back to the girl. She pulled another sweatshirt out of the closet, a hooded one that had always been too big for her. She held it out to Juice,

 

“Here. I don’t have anything that would fit Ben, but this might do for Tommen.”

 

Juice reached out to take it from her, but Sansa did not let go just yet. She could hear Sandor reentering the house, could hear him pause as he likely noted her absence in the kitchen.

 

“Just- don’t.” She released the sweatshirt, and exited the room. Sandor watched her as she crossed the floor to the bathroom, and snatched the bucket up, using both hands. She hauled it outside, and Sandor wordlessly held the door open for her. She wrinkled her nose as she emptied it over the back corner of the fence. No need to walk far today, not when they’d be leaving soon. Sansa used the flowerpot to fill the bucket, as usual, and rinsed it out. She froze then, groaning to herself. But before she could turn to reenter the house, the soap and rag were pressed into her hands.

 

“Thanks.” She turned her back to him to begin her scrubbing.

 

“Everything alright?” Sandor’s voice was quiet, not meant to carry. Sansa sighed.

 

“Yeah.” And it was. But they shouldn’t, none of them, look at the pair of them and see- see what? A brute in Sandor? Helplessness in herself? She shook her head. She understood the thought. They were an odd pair to be sure. He was near fifteen years older than she, and looked rough enough, while Sansa looked- well, like Sansa. But still. Maybe it was just the indignity of it, that some might think the only value she had to anybody in this new world was giving herself to a stranger.

 

“Hey.” Sandor was still behind her, and she heard the small grunt that meant he was listening. “First chance we get, can you show me those snares again? When I can do them for real, I mean.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Sansa clambered to her feet, and nodded her thanks when he took the clean bucket from her. She tucked her hands beneath her arms as they made their way back into the house. Juice had resumed her perch on the couch, while Tommen had put on the sweatshirt Sansa had found for him. It looked to be to tight across his shoulders, but fit well enough elsewhere. He caught her eye as she made for the table.

 

“Hey- thanks.”

 

She nodded wordlessly at him, but Sandor spoke before she could take her seat.

 

“We’re all ready, then?”

 

There was a general rustling as packs were put on and jackets buttoned. Sansa readied herself with shaking hands. No. No, she wasn’t ready. But she stood nonetheless, watching as Tommen, Ben, Juice, and finally Sandor filed out of the house. Part of her wanted to look around, take a final look at the place. But she tucked her head, and walked out after the rest of them. The door closed, and her key scraped in the lock.

 

She looked at the closed door before her, then back towards the others. Only Sandor remained at the foot of the stairs. The others were hovering impatiently by the gate.

 

“I’ll come back.”

 

The words sounded hollow, small in the open air out here. She clenched her fist tighter, the key digging into her palm. Sandor was watching her, the corners of his mouth twitching as his eyes met hers. They were hard, and storm-gray.

 

“Aye. Maybe you will.”

 

“I will.  _ We _ will. You have a key too, you know.” Reminded of its existence, Sansa pressed her own key back into her pocket. Perhaps she should find some cord, hang it around her neck. Packs could be lost, and pockets could rip open.

 

Sandor watched her for a moment, before casting his eyes to the ground. Then, abruptly, he strode forward past the base of the stairs, crouching by the side of the house. Sansa descended the stairs, circling around him to see.

 

“What’re you doing?”

 

He was prying up a stone with the tips of his fingers, a big flat one. Pressing the key into the earth beneath in, he replaced it.

 

“Just in case.” Then he stood, hitching his pack higher onto his shoulder, and looked down at her. He jerked his chin towards the gate.

 

“Just a moment.” Sansa lowered herself to the ground, shucking off her pack. There were no large stones here, not like the ones she wanted. But there were a myriad of round little pebbles, and those would have to do. It wouldn’t be big, like it was supposed to be, but it was better than nothing. Two oval shaped stoned were balanced atop one another, and a round pebble atop that. Sansa sat back on her heels to examine her handiwork. It looked more like a snowman than anything, but it was how it was supposed to be done, if no one was to enter the house. Except that she didn’t know any prayers.

 

She looked down at the little stone figure, brow furrowed.

 

_ Mother- _

 

Mother what? Protect us? Protect the house? What use was that if there was no one to return home to it?

 

_ Mother. Help us, if you can. Let us find mercy. _

 

Sansa sat still for a moment, staring blankly at the little pebbles, but no more words came to mind. Mercy. That was what she hoped to find at Fort Aster. Perhaps that was where the Mother was, where she watched over you, if she could be found anywhere. If you believed such things.

 

She looked up from her pathetic attempt at a shrine, looked up into Sandor’s face. If the Mother couldn’t see them, surely the Stranger could. After all, there he was, looking out from behind Sandor’s eyes as he looked down at her. His hand was cupped over the hilt of his knife, and Sansa remembered the supermarket, remembered the spray of gore as he’d smashed the shotgun into their faces. He liked it, or at least needed it somehow, when he was out here.

 

She nodded.

 

“I’m ready.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent a lot of time tonight trying to draw these characters before remembering that I can't draw. Thank god for imagination.

That first day had gone all too quietly. Eerily quiet, Sansa thought. She had sat beside Sandor in the front seat, as silent as he. The three in the back had kept their silence as well, squashed in together across the bench seat, leaving the two immediately behind Sandor and Sansa empty. It hadn’t looked comfortable then, and it looked even less comfortable now as they woke, still crammed together and sitting upright, raising their heads stiffly from their shoulders.

 

Sansa had not fared terribly well either, but at least her seat could recline. When Sandor opened the driver’s door, she exited the car gladly, keeping one hand on the handle of her knife as she arched her back in a hard stretch. The air was cool against her skin, a welcome respite from the stuffiness in the van. 

 

Sansa rolled her neck, grimacing as she did so. Her skin felt hot and damp, though she’d been glad for the blankets when they’d first stopped for the night. Winter might have gasped its last breath, but the nights remained cold. It had been hard to sleep with so many so near, though they were as far away as might be within the confines of the car.

 

Sandor walked around the nose of the car to face her, face blank as he jerked his thumb towards the woods, one eyebrow raised at her. She nodded, feeling her face heat slightly.

 

“Wait here, then go together.” Sandor’s voice near made her jump. It was the first thing he’d really said since they’d left, the first thing any of them had said. Tommen nodded at them as he clambered out the side door of the van, massaging at the back of his neck. They’d done it last night after all, just the same way.

 

Sansa pulled out her gun, holding it steadily in both hands as she followed Sandor into the tangle of trees beside the road. They didn’t go in far, and Sansa stepped behind a tree, clumsily trying to undo her jeans one handed, gun still at the ready. She disliked how close Sandor was standing, though she knew she was well hidden by the foliage. It hadn’t been so bad last night; the shadows had been deep enough to make Sansa feel well hidden, although the darkness promised to hide other things as well. That fear had actually helped somewhat. She’d been more worried about finishing quickly and covering herself again than she had been about Sandor’s presence.

 

Afterwords, refastening her jeans and surveying the forest as Sandor took his turn behind her, Sansa wondered if Juice might-

 

But no. Not after what she’d said. She scowled to think of it, following Sandor back towards the car, light coming more readily through the trees as they neared the road. 

 

The other three had finished their stretching, and crossed the road together to enter the woods. Sansa leaned against the cold metal of the car and watched them go. Tommen had the hammer clutched in his hand, head moving back and forth as he surveyed the trees. They disappeared soon enough, and Sansa kept her eyes on the spot where they’d entered. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for- movement perhaps, something which might prompt a shouted warning.

 

Although shouting was like to make anything worse out here.

 

Sansa shivered, pushing away from the car. Making her way over to Sandor, she stared at his back. He was bent over the open trunk, sifting through the cans with many a glance over his shoulder. He met her eyes when he turned back around, but there was something off there. It was almost like he was looking through her somehow. She took the can he offered her, but caught his sleeve as he turned away.

 

“Don't.”

 

He turned almost violently to face her, pulling his sleeve from her grasp.

 

“What.” 

 

She stared unblinkingly into his eyes. Though his face was as blank as she’d ever seen it, his his eyes were another story. Hard, icy looking. But at least he seemed to  _ see _ her now.

 

“I want-” She trailed off as he took a step closer to her, pulling back slightly as his chest brushed her own.

 

“Yes. What do you  _ want.”  _ His tone was flat, and challenging. The corners of his mouth were pulled tight, breaking the smooth mask he’d worn.

 

Sansa shifted where she stood, the rubber soles of her boots grinding against the asphalt. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

 

_ I want- _

 

A rustling came then, and Sansa stepped away from Sandor, turning to see the other three emerging the woods. She was equally grateful and exasperated by the disturbance. Turning her head back towards Sandor, she saw that he was still watching her, ignoring the approach of the other three. His eyes had narrowed somewhat, and she took another step away from the intensity, rummaging hastily in the trunk for the can opener, ignoring the feel of his gaze on the back of her neck. 

 

He did not look at her again as they ate a sparse meal, handing the cans around their crouched circle. Sansa grimaced at all the dirty hands dipping into the tin of corn and scooping out beans with two fingers. She should have thought of  _ spoons. _

 

When they’d finished the silent meal, they climbed back into the car, stowing the blankets and pillows beneath seats and in the trunk. The cough of the car’s engine was loud in the quiet, and Sansa stared down at Sandor’s sure hands as he sat up, pulling them from beneath the wheel to rest atop it. Big hands, they were. She glanced down at her own, though she knew the difference well enough. In the winter, when Sandor had busied himself with ‘doing nothing’, eyes blank and staring, Sansa had liked to press her hands to his, palm to palm. Hard hands, with some fading calluses that had dropped off altogether with time, and a few old, small scars. Some on his knuckles, and one bigger one on the pad of flesh between thumb and forefinger. She had wondered where he’d gotten that one, though she’d never asked. He didn’t like to talk much about his Before.

 

The hours ticked by slowly as they drove. Sansa squirmed in her seat, pushing her seatbelt from one side to the other. There was the occasional low murmur of conversation from the back seat, but Sandor did not so much as look at her. As they drove on down the empty road, Sansa tentatively pressed a hand to his knee, squeezing slightly. She might as well have touched the dashboard for all the reaction she got. Biting her lip, she withdrew her hand.

 

The knapsack was down by her feet, and she lifted it by one strap. The water was cool, running down her dry throat so sweetly, but Sansa closed the bottle before she was really through. In the Riverlands they might be, but she had seen no rivers yet. One couldn’t be too careful.

 

Replacing the bottle, Sansa pulled the bundle of plastic bags from her pack. It took a little time, but she didn’t hurry. There would be hours yet before they stopped; Sandor had driven until dusk the previous night.

 

The brochure was as she remembered it, creased and stained, and she unfolded it carefully. She looked up as Sandor grunted next to her, a quiet noise that was half a sigh. But his eyes were still on the road. Looking in the mirror, Sansa could see that Tommen had looked up as well, eyes finding the paper in her hand. But he turned back to the others soon enough, joining in the quiet murmur of their conversation. Something about food. Sansa had gathered that they felt some imbalance when it came to that- they did not touch the food stores when it came time to eat, though they were the closest to them. All three prefered to wait for Sandor or Sansa to choose what they’d eat, making no move to reach for anything until one of them had begun the meal and passed the tin on.

 

Sansa glanced back at Sandor, gripping the paper hard in her hands. Turning back to it, she read the thing again, though she’d perused it enough times to know it nearly word-for-word by now.

 

After a time, she cleared her throat lightly, glancing back to ensure the others were still talking.

 

“I think they must have scientists. If- if it’s true.”

 

Sandor made no response, staring straight ahead as though she’d said nothing at all. But that itself was not entirely unfamiliar to her.

 

“My brother wanted to be a scientist. You know, Bran.” Sansa felt her hands clench around the brochure, and quickly released it, letting it tumble into her lap, smoothing the wrinkles with fumbling fingers. “He always liked comics, and he said-”

 

Sansa snapped her mouth shut as a lone figure moved slowly onto the road in the distance. There was a pack on it’s back, a distinctive lump that became clearer as they drew closer. But there was no mistaking that shambling walk. The thing paused as they bore down on it, and Sandor did not need to swerve. They passed within inches of it, and Sansa turned her head around to watch it dwindle into the distance, noting that Juice and the two boys were doing the same. On those little back roads, they’d not seen many disturbances a they wended through the countryside. The occasional Rotter or two, and every now and again an abandoned car by the side of the road. This luxury would fade away, Sansa thought, as they drew closer to the cities.

 

Swallowing, Sansa continued. “Well. He said he wanted to be a superhero when he was little. But when he got older he said scientist. Because that was the next best thing.” Looking down into her lap, Sansa felt her stomach twist. Bran was of an age with Tommen, nearly a man himself. She tried to shake off her thoughts. That was the worst part of this damn driving- the thoughts. There was nothing to do  _ but _ think. 

 

Not all thoughts were pleasant.

 

“Anyway.” She dug her fingers into her denim clad thighs, allowing the nails to bite into the flesh through her jeans. “They have scientists there. They must, or else they wouldn’t have any cure, would they?”

 

Sandor glanced into the mirror then, and she couldn't help meeting his eyes. She flinched away from what she saw.

 

“Yeah. Of course they do.” Startled, Sansa glanced around towards the back seat. Ben had leaned forwards, around the back of the seat in front of him. He continued earnestly. “They have to.”

 

“You think so?” He sounded  _ so _ sure.

 

“Yeah. They made  _ that _ , didn’t they? It wasn’t from before everything, or else the dates would be wrong. And they had the bite,” He pointed to the back of his own shoulder, where the man in the picture had been bitten. “They had the man they cured.”

 

A voice sounding awfully like Sandor niggled at her the back of her mind, and she couldn't help speaking up. “They could’ve faked it. The picture maybe.”

 

“Maybe.” Ben shrugged, but did not look all that worried about it. His teeth flashed white, a contrast to his dark skin as he spoke. Did they have toothbrushes? Sansa hadn’t seen. “The way I figure it, they had to have a lot of things to make that.” He waved a hand towards Sansa, and she raised the brochure to eye level.

 

“Yeah.” Sansa glanced towards Tommen. It was the first time he’d spoken to her since leaving the house. He didn't seem too keen on joining in the conversation though, merely watching with a mild expression on his face. Juice had turned her face to the window, utterly ignoring them all.

 

“Anyway,” Ben continued, “They had to have a computer with some program, and a printer, and paper and ink and all. And power too. If they had all that, why waste it on making stupid fake fliers?”

 

Sansa shrugged. She glanced up at Sandor again, but he made no comment.

 

Turning back to Ben, she brought up the point she was nearly as interested in, the phrase which seemed to make Sandor so uneasy. “And safety for all?”

 

“If they have all that, why not?”

 

Sansa opened her mouth to reply, but the car suddenly jerked, throwing her to the side, seatbelt catching her hard across the chest. Sansa pushed herself to face the front- clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle her yelp, eyes wide as they went screeching across the road into the opposite lane, the line of trees rapidly approaching. Then, the car skidded to a stop. Sansa’s hands slapped against the dash, seatbelt jerking painfully across her breast once more.

 

“What-” She looked wildly over at the road, but there was nothing there that she could see. Whipping back to Sandor, she took in the set of his jaw, the hands that were white-knuckled on the wheel.

 

“The hell was that?”

 

Sansa rather agreed with Juice’s sentiment for once, and threw a glance back at them. The girl was pushing away Tommen’s arm, presumably thrown across her midriff as the car had jerked to an abrupt halt.

 

The sound of the door opening had her turning again. Sandor was quickly getting to his feet, her view of him cut off abruptly by the roof of the car.

 

“We’ll spend the night here.”

 

His voice was clipped, perfunctory.

 

Sansa raised a weak hand to push a loose lock of hair from her eyes before undoing her own seatbelt. As she exited the car, she raised her eyes to the sky. The sun was warm and bright. Dark would be at least two hours in coming.

 

Turning, Sansa watched a fuming Juice climb out, followed quickly by a nervous looking Ben. Tommen emerged last. All three gave Sandor a wide berth. Sansa looked at him over-top of the car. Or rather, looked at the back of his head. He’d yanked his own pack from it’s spot beside Sansa’s, pulling his whetstone from the side pouch. 

 

Glancing around them, Sansa saw nothing unusual. Except that Sandor had chosen to stop on a very narrow strip of road. There was scarcely room for the van between the road and the line of trees- and she disliked the closeness of those trees. They could hide nearly anything, and no one could see until it was too late.

 

Rubbing at her chest, hand pressed flat between her breasts, Sansa ducked into the car once more. The brochure had tumbled to the floor in the abrupt stop, and she tucked it carefully away in it’s bags, stowing it in the bottom of her pack. Glancing out her open door, Sansa could see the skid marks in the road. The air smelled of burnt rubber.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the wait in chapters. Recently went full-time at work, and the holiday season has been crazy. I'm trying to write some every day now, even if it's only a few words, to keep me in the mindset. I swear, there aren't enough hours in a day anymore.

Sandor stood with his back to the girl as she relieved herself. He'd have much preferred to have her within his sight, but she'd balked at the suggestion that first night. The pale, watery-looking morning light filtered between the sparse gaps in the trees.

 

They walked back to the car together, and he kept his eyes straight ahead, fixed on the break in the line of trees that was the road. She was trying to look at him, had been trying to catch his eye after the abrupt halt of the other day. He felt his jaw clench at the thought.

 

Sansa had been twittering on with that boy, the pair of them comparing wishful might-bes about their destination. Sandor pushed his hands deep into his pockets as the pair of them approached the pittiful camp.

 

When had he ever let a  _ woman _ sway him so? Or anyone? He crouched near to the ground, arms pulled behind him in a hard stretch, watching out of the corner of his eye as she climbed back into the car.

 

Good.

 

Rising to his feet, he stood, keeping his back to the van, eying the dense line of trees before him. At least they would hear anything coming- the foliage was dense here, the dead leaves and brittle twigs thick underfoot. The three grouped by the car had learned their silence, whatever else could be said about them.

 

Sandor tried to let his mind go blank. Anger was bad out here. More than bad, it was stupid. Could get you killed.

 

They should have stayed back at the house. He should have  _ made _ her stay. She wouldn't leave without him, not really. Not if she was smart. He'd been protecting her for months now. She'd said it herself; before his arrival she'd run from those things rather than take them on.

 

Except that she  _ would  _ have left. She'd said so, with her quiet, foolish words. And she'd the gun now, though the girl liked to forget that she'd only fired the thing a handful of times. It made him think of Joffrey, though Sansa would abhor being compared to the boy. He’d always carried himself with nothing less than absolute confidence, though he’d never had anything which warranted it. The little bird fluttered rather than swaggered, but the unshakable conviction was the same, so sure was she that what was out here had to be better than what they’d left behind.

 

Maybe it was him who should have left. All those months ago, before the winter, and before all this had started. Whatever  _ this _ was, this thing that had grown between them. Or maybe that was only him. She’d offered to leave him quickly enough, telling him that he could stay alone in the house that was all Sansa, her empty clothes in the closet, her bed that she’d shared with him-

 

Sandor shook his head roughly. Maybe he'd have died all those months back, if he’d have left, but a dead man didn't have to worry about himself, or about anyone else either. Snorting, he pushed away from the tree, walking back towards the others. That was shit talk, he had known that from the beginning, since that first old man had offed himself.

 

It was the easy way out, the cowards escape. It took more courage to live than anything else these days.

 

The little group of three broke off their talk as he approached.

 

“Maps?”

 

“Sure.” Tommen fished around for a moment in his pack, before emerging with the maps, as neatly folded as they had been the first time Sandor had seen them. Laying his pack on the wet-dry ground, with the dry leaves and forest debris and and sodden earth beneath, Tommen spread the relevant map atop it, angling it so that Sandor could see properly. The girl pushed past Ben to crouch at Sandor’s side, tense as a bowstring, but apparently unwilling to sit on the sidelines as he studied their planned route. Ben shrugged quietly past, dry leaves crunching underfoot as he slipped up to Sandor’s other side.

 

Gritting his teeth, he tried to ignore them. The girl was always trying to push her way between them when need drove Sandor to approach her companions, and Ben was far too eager to be anything less than irritating. Tommen, at least, seemed to have the sense to keep his silence and his distance, and cooperate as much as was needed, no more and no less. That sort of thing was what was needed in safety groupings such as these. Tommen was young, but Sandor never remembered him being stupid. His companions- well, he would reserve judgement there, though what he had seen thus far did not much impress him.

 

“Will we join the highway, do you think? Or stay on the backroads?” Ben was looking up at him, eyes wide, his dense curls standing tall above them. A puppy. Ragged and living wild perhaps, but still far too trusting, the sort that would yelp in surprise rather than pain when the inevitable kick came.

 

“We’ll see. We’ll have to cross the bridge first.”

 

“And we’re  _ sure _ that’s the smartest bridge to cross?”

 

The girl was staring up at him, chest puffed out and shoulders thrown back, as though she thought to pull herself to a larger size. Sandor met her eyes steadily, her angry brown ones blinking up to meet his. When he made no reply, she stood up abruptly, snatching the map up from the makeshift table they’d made for it. She strode off between the trees, though by the sound, she didn’t go very far. With a grimace, Tommen moved after her with hardly a glance at the other two.

 

Sandor rose to his feet, feeling his lips twist as Tommen’s soft voice drifted through the trees. Glancing to the car, he saw Sansa with a hand on the door handle, eyes seeking his. He shook his head, and she withdrew back into her seat, though her eyes still sought the patch of woods the other two had disappeared into. He felt his ire rise again at the sight of her, and turned abruptly away.

 

Pushing his thumbs into his pockets, he leaned against the back of the car. Where he couldn’t see her. He felt stiff as a board from the past nights spent in the too-small car, head cranked to the side. She’d used to touch him, more than he could ever remember being touched by anybody. Anytime she was near him, a hand had been pulled into her lap or pushed under the hair at his neck, reaching fingers sliding under his shirt, whether or nor she actually meant to follow through on the promise of her caresses. He’d learned to accept the touches, ignore them sometimes, but it startled him how acutely he felt their loss.

 

Were a few caresses enough to justify chasing after her like this? It shouldn’t be.

 

A body fell in to place beside him, and it took a good amount of effort to keep his mouth clamped shut, to hold in the snapping rejection that  _ badly  _ wanted to emerge. He didn’t  _ want _ to have to court this strippling boy, to put up with the wide eyed questions and the idiotic confidence. But it was always better to have somebody in your corner, and this boy looked to be offering his services in that regard, whatever his reason. Perhaps he and Tommen, with the right encouragement, could corral the girl.

 

So he looked over at Ben, and offered him a nod, which seemed to be enough.

 

“She’ll come ‘round. She knows we’re going the right way, to the right bridge. It’s what we would’ve done anyway.”

 

“The fuck’s her problem then?” Sandor pitched his voice low, so as not to have it carry to the girl in question. It was the expected comment, and he made it, though he already knew the answer. She didn’t like him, that was plain. For his size and his sex and the way the others deferred to his will. He could understand that. The girl was riding in  _ his _ car, eating  _ his _ food. He could understand it, but he didn’t have to respect it. She was being stupid. They’d come together, her group and his, and if she didn’t like how, she could leave. She hadn’t done that, and she’d be an even bigger fool to do so. But this posturing was helping no one, least of all herself.

 

“Juice-” Ben grimaced, his round face downturned for a moment, before looking up at Sandor again. “She’ll come ‘round.”

 

“Hm.” Pushing away from the trunk, Sandor made for the driver’s side door. “Get the others, will you? We’re heading out.”

 

“Sure.” Sandor snorted as he slid into the car, watching the boy trot off to the forest to fetch his friends. Sansa sat up beside him as the door swung shut. She blinked up at him, withdrawn on the passenger seat. 

 

“We’re heading out?” Her voice was wary, careful. It was he who had done that, but she had deserved it. He didn’t know what he would do if she and the puppy boy started up again today, with their stupid little might-bes.

 

Her eyes were big and round, her body angled away from his on the seat. He wanted to reach out and touch her, lay a hand on her thigh. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders, and shout sense into her face. Tell her that to hope was fruitless.

 

“Yeah.” Clearing his throat, he pulled his eyes away from hers, and fumbled beneath the wheel to start the car.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long one here.

The bridge looked just as intimidating in the morning as it had the previous evening, a great metal thing, colored a deep rusty red and cluttered with countless cars. They had been seeing abandoned vehicles more often as they approached the bridge, but never so many as there were here. Sansa thought it looked rather like one of Rickon’s favorite pastimes- dumping handful upon handful of cars over his toy roads, mindless of the clutter and piling of them. 

 

Only that wasn’t right. Rickon couldn’t really be called a child, not anymore. It had been years and years since he’d played with such careless abandon, and he would be older still than when she’d last seen him, nearly of an age to drive a car rather than play with them. Sansa found that she couldn’t imagine him as he must be now- the picture kept sliding between a young Rickon with round, smooth cheeks and armfuls of toys, to Robb when he’d been that age, lean and exited, with his mop of curls forever falling into his eyes. They had always looked close, more similar than anyone else in the family. Would that still hold true, with Rickon growing into himself?

 

But whatever Rickon did or did not look like, the bridge remained. The cars atop it were crowded together, some crumpled and half-crushed by one another, or by some other vehicle out of sight. The same vehicle which must have carved the tenuous path through the tangle of metal. Surely the path must extend all the way through- it  _ had _ to for them to drive across. Sansa shuddered, imagining trekking across, carrying all the things currently jammed into the car, and having to search the abandoned cars full of bodies for another suitable vehicle.

 

She stood up from her seat in the open trunk, standing inside of it to look over the roof of the car towards the path in question. She was  _ supposed _ to be keeping watch behind them, but the stretch of road was as empty as it had been for days. But for the dead, both moving and not, they had seen no other people. Ben had pointed towards the faint wisps of smoke on the horizon several nights past, resulting in a hurried rush back to the car for further driving that day, though Sandor had refused to continue on once it had truly become dark, saying that headlights were bound to cause more trouble than good. Had those faint signs of fire come from some chimney somewhere? Or a little campfire, such as they had made on occasion?

 

Squinting her eyes against the faint sunlight managing to filter through the layer of clouds, Sansa caught sight of movement. Good. They were coming back. Her belly fluttered as she lowered herself back to her seat, alternating between glances towards the approaching figures and the road she was meant to be watching.

 

Sandor did not speak until he drew level with the car, the others hurrying over to hear his words. Ben and Juice looked as worried as Sansa felt, with wrinkled brows and crossed arms.

 

“We can cross.”

 

At Sandor’s statement, Sansa closed her eyes, feeling the tension rush out of her in a great woosh of breath. She had decidedly  _ not _ wanted to have to cart everything across the bridge by hand, to sacrifice the safety of the van for however long it would have taken to cross and find a replacement.

 

Opening her eyes, she craned her neck around the side of the car as Tommen elaborated on Sandor’s simple statement.

 

“It was a semi. Didn’t get all the way across, but it made it most of the way. It’ll be a tight squeeze at the end, but we can get through.”

 

Tommen had a felt hat on today, to combat the chill yesterday’s rain had left hanging in the air. Sansa thought she much preferred him that way. With the hair hidden, it was easier not to see Joffrey in his face. Joff hadn’t been that much older when she’d met him, and the shock of bright blond hair and the vivid green eyes still made her start sometimes when Tommen addressed her. With him in the hat, it was easier to see the bump in his nose, the thinner lips, and the coarser brow.

 

“We’ll get ready then. I want to get this done with.” Sansa quite agreed with Sandor’s statement. The sooner the bridge was behind them, the sooner they could make for the Crownlands, and then the Reach after that.

 

“Shouldn’t we go through some of the cars? Might find something useful. We need fuel anyway.” Juice was staring hard at Sandor. She alone, of the three others, had not begun to move at his words.

 

Staring back at her for a moment, Sandor merely shrugged before moving towards Sansa at the trunk.

 

“S’long as it doesn’t take long.”

 

Behind him, Juice strode towards the bridge, stiff-legged with her shoulders thrown back, the two boys following a bit more sedately. As Sandor settled beside her on the edge of the trunk, Sansa nodded in the girl’s direction.

 

“Think she’s going to be a problem?”

 

Sandor glanced at her, a flash of gray eyes, before he looked down once more. “Nah. She’s just trying to throw her weight around.”

 

Sansa snorted- Juice was tiny. “She can’t weigh enough to justify that.”

 

Sandor shrugged. “Yeah. Well. She’s trying anyway.”

 

Silence fell as Sandor reached into the mess of tins behind the two of them. In their hurry to examine the bridge more closely in the early-morning light, nobody had yet taken the time to eat or relieve themselves. Sansa turned with him, stacking the tins and bags into neat piles, more for something to do with her hands than anything else. She knew any semblance of order would be destroyed quickly once they began driving once more. Licking her lips, she glanced over at the man beside her. It only took a moment before he met her gaze again, hands stilling over the little pile of tins he had isolated.

 

“What.”

 

There it was again. That challenge, the anger she had not seen directed towards anyone but her. When he bothered to look at her at all these days, it felt more like a shove than anything else.

 

He raised an eyebrow as she studied him. “Well? What do you want then, little bird.”

 

Heat flooded her stomach as she heard the name he’d bestowed upon her all those months ago. A pretty little bird, a pet for rich folks. Good for nothing but twittering and looking pretty.

 

“Don’t  _ call _ me that.” Gritting her teeth, Sansa faced him, trying to sort through the clamor in her head, to make sense of her own anger as well as of his. “Look. You could’ve stayed. You didn’t. That’s on you. So stop shitting on  _ me _ for  _ your  _ choice.”

 

Face warm in the cool morning air, Sansa faced him, chin stuck out, trying to ignore the doubtful little voice in the back of her head, the one that told her that he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t done anything, not really.

 

He just stared at her, eyes bright but unreadable in his gaunt face, hair that had gone greasy hanging in long strands over them.

 

Then, his eyes narrowed, and he turned abruptly away. Sansa opened her mouth, to say what she didn’t know, but then she heard it too. Running feet, panting breath coming closer.

 

Groping for her gun, she saw that Sandor had already drawn, looking left and right as Ben pelted up, the others close on his heels. He didn’t stop by Sandor, just pulled open the door of the car, and threw himself in. Juice and Tommen piled in after him, Sandor backing up to where Sansa still stood by the open trunk. 

 

Ben wheeled around in his seat, square-shaped knife glinting in his hand as he used it to gesture frantically at Sandor. 

 

“Drive- drive!”

 

“No-” Juice had scrambled into the backseat, eyes wide in her thin face. “They’re too close, they’ll just hear and follow us. Just- just get in, and  _ shut _ that.” She pointed to the gaping trunk.

 

Sansa hastily climbed in, limbs tangling with Sandor’s when he crawled in after her, closing the trunk in a confusion of legs and long hair. Sansa struggled to extricate herself from him, to get her legs under herself, but froze when her motions displaced a small cascade of cans, sending them tumbling down all a clatter.

 

“Shhhhhh!” Tommen was in the front seat, gripping the wheel, though Sansa knew he couldn’t so much as start the car. She felt the cans beneath her shift, and wedged herself down against them in a rush of panic, despite how the position painfully jabbed Sandor’s knee into her side.

 

Sansa glanced up at him- from her current vantage, she could see almost nothing. Just the gray sky through the windows, Sandor in front of her, and Juice’s profile from where she sat in the back seat, eyes fixed out the window.

 

Sandor glanced at her, then stretched incrementally closer to Juice, speaking so quietly that Sansa almost couldn’t hear him.

 

“How many? Did you see?”

 

She just shook her head. Sandor glanced at Sansa again, grip tightening on the revolver he had resting on his thigh. She wished she could bring her own gun in so close, at the ready if need be, but was afraid to move her outstretched arm. 

 

Sansa heard the slightest intake of breath from Juice, and felt Sandor jolt slightly against her. So they were here then. She listened, straining her ears for the sounds of shuffling feet, for the wheezing breaths that you could hear if they got too close. She thought she could almost hear it now. But maybe that was just because she was looking for it.

 

She was  _ not _ imagining the grey-faced thing that shuffled by the window a moment later. Nor any of the others around it.

 

There were so many, moving slowly, although not the syrupy slowness that the Rotters had shown in the winter. Had there been this many before, the only other time she had seen more than a few moving along together? She couldn’t be sure, not here. Not only seeing the ones she could see. The others would know, but she had no way of asking them. Anyway, 9it wasn’t the same. Watching a seemingly endless stream of them shuffle by was one thing inside four sturdy walls and a fence, with some distance between she and them. It was quite another out here, among them, with only a thin layer of metal between Sansa and certain death. She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought, but they popped opened quickly enough when a thump came from closer than she liked.

 

There was a face outside of Juice’s window- if you could call it a face. One eye was gone and the grimy white of a bone peeked out of one cheek,  leaving the intact flesh looking slack, ready to fall away at any moment. Sansa allowed her eyes to flick to Juice. She was sitting stock still, eyes unblinking as she met the grey-filmed eyes of the dead girl outside of the window.

 

Sansa held herself tight and stiff, scarcely allowing herself to breath. One slip- 

 

No. She couldn’t even think it. They could make noise, when they wanted, something more akin to animals than to the people they had once been. If the dead girl saw movement, saw that they were alive, she would call and scream, try to break her way in, and then the others would come. There were so many of them, and they didn’t stop. How long would her little group last in here, with dead faces pressing-

 

The dead girl tilted her head to the side, exposing the dark stains, wetly visible on her jaw and down the side of her neck. So she had eaten. Did that make it better? Sandor would know. She would have to ask. Later. 

 

Sansa gritted her teeth ever harder against the feel of the rims of the cans, digging hard into her flesh. The face outside the window turned as a taller figure jostled it, and then began to disappear from her view. Sansa felt bile rise in the back of her throat, and worked to swallow it down again. The mass of hair at the back of the thing’s neck had a colored scrunchy tangled into it, the dark red looking almost like some other wound, only Sansa knew that if it were, the blood would be black.

  
  


\--------

  
  


It seemed to take forever for the crowd to pass. Hours and hours. Days, maybe, except that it hadn’t gotten dark again.

 

It had been long enough though. An hour past, Sansa had smelled something acrid nearby, her fear-heightened senses startling her enough that she almost jumped at the shock of it. But she didn’t, only moving her eyes to discover the source. At first, she couldn’t identify it. But then, she saw Juice’s clenched teeth, saw her eyes that had screwed shut. Oh.

 

The smell had been faint enough to her, but she could not help but worry that the moving figures outside would sense it somehow, that it would draw their attention. But it hadn’t.

 

Neither Ben nor Tommen, at the front of the van, had so much as turned their heads, and Sandor had ignored it as well, though if Sansa could smell it, then surely he could. But if he did, he paid it no mind.

 

The figures wandering past had been thinning out even then, and were gone now, though nobody made a move. In the utter silence, Sansa met Sandor’s eyes, when he had finally glanced in her direction. Then, he’d looked to the front, shaking his head slightly. Sansa could not see what the boys were trying to tell him, but she could guess at it. And if she were correct, she agreed with him. She did  _ not _ want any of the Rotters to hear the noise, to turn around.

  
  


\------

  
  


She wasn’t sure how long they waited. Long enough for her limbs to grow numb, the tingling giving way to a true deadness of feeling. When Sandor hissed slightly through his teeth, the sound pierced the silence like a whistle. Fear had flooded into her then, icy in her throat and chest, but when she looked up, he was looking towards the unseen others at the front of the car, not out of the windows. When he moved, uncurling himself from his position and reaching for the trunk handle, it was as though the frozen atmosphere had shattered.

 

Tommen tumbled out of the front seat, there was a flurry of quiet movement from Ben, and Sansa finally allowed herself to sit up, relaxing her stiff arms and legs with a clatter of cans as the trunk swung shut behind Sandor. She tried to sit up, but found that her deadened limbs would not quite hold her weight.

 

The car sputtered to life, making Sansa wince. From her prone position, sprawled gracelessly into the cavity Sandor had left behind, she could see the tendons standing out on Juice’s neck as the car began to move. They moved both too slowly and too fast, leaving Sansa wishing that they could put more distance between themselves and the horde, and the knowledge that they were making  _ noise _ , and who knew how much noise would be too much. 

 

She had just begun to rub at her stiff legs with her gun-free hand, when she felt the car shudder, a screech of metal on metal making her wince. She tried once more to sit up, and was somewhat more successful this time. She had just risen to her knees when a square, white edge began to crawl it’s way past her window. Beside her, Juice’s face was white as she watched its slow progress. 

 

The cab of the semi came into view, abandoned and bloody, tipped onto its side with the attached trailer.

 

It seemed to take an age, but with ever more noisom protests and an uneven jerk, the car worked its way free of the metal surrounding it. Their slow progress became ever faster, and Sansa finally allowed herself a sigh of relief, despite the slowly advancing avalanche of their supplies around and against her.

 

But they were slowing all too soon, and to Sansa’s dismay, tshe found hey were stopping all together.

 

“What’s the matter? Why have we stopped?” The words felt rough in her throat, and she winced at the feel of them, groping for the back of the row of seats in front of her, steadying herself as they came to a slightly bumpy stop.

 

“Because we’re low on fuel. And we’re not stopping anywhere near that damn city.” Sansa followed the jerk of Sandor’s thumb, though she could not see anything through the trees. Ripamen was not the biggest of cities, but it was still a city, which could hold nothing good for them. She could understand that, but surely someplace else was better, further away from that bridge, further from that slow-moving crowd.

 

“Can’t we-”

 

“We might have to go back to that bridge in the morning, if there’s nothing there.” This time, Sansa could see what he was pointing that. The road was nearly empty, a stark contrast to the chaos of the bridge. But there were two cars pulled over here, doors gaping open as though the occupants had only just fled, though by the look of the car, those doors had likely been open all winter.

 

Sandor stood up, gun still in hand, although he had pulled his knife from his belt as well. Tommen and Ben were making moves to follow, clutching their weapons with determined faces.

 

Sansa glanced towards Juice. She had made no move to join them, still sitting stiffly where she had been since the beginning. Sansa glanced towards the others- they had to go, had to join them. There could be no question of separating today, despite how close they had parked to the abandoned cars.

 

“Here.” She thrust her jacket over the seat towards Juice. It was almost warm enough today to go without, and she could find a sweater later. She didn’t wait for a reply, merely opened the back of the car and unfolded hersel, wincing at the myriad of crackling from her knees and shoulders. After a moment’s contemplation, she pushed her pistol back into the front of her pants, and drew the knife instead. The less noise the better. Although it seemed none of their weapons would be needed, judging by the lowering of weapons by Sandor, Ben, amd Tommen.

 

Juice came up beside her then, the jacket that had been a little long on Sansa hanging nearly to the other girl’s knees.

 

“Thanks.” It was spoken quietly, softly enough that no one else would have heard it.

 

“Of course.”

 

Juice glanced up at her, pushing the long sleeves back on her wrists. “Let me know if- I mean,” she glanced away for a moment. “I’ll wash it in the morning. We’re right by that river.”

 

Sansa nodded. She herself had not felt the her body’s needs until she had stood, and they were screaming at her now. Juice began to move forward, to join the others, but Sansa stopped her with a hand to the shoulder.

 

“Could you just-” She bit her lip, thinking for a moment before continuing. “I know you don’t like him. That’s fine. But he’s not a bad guy.”

 

Juice merely shrugged, pulling away to join the group around the larger of the two cars.

  
  


\-------

  
  


As it turned out, there was fuel in one of the cars. Much less than Sansa would like to see, but some was butter than nothing.

 

“Is it enough though?” She found herself whispering, though Sandor was right beside her, eating from the same tin of beans. The hot food felt good as it slipped down her throat. They’d not had a hot meal in days, nor one so large. Sansa had thought that they were owed one today, and no one had tried to stop her when she had pulled out the little stove, and nearly double what they usually ate.

 

“Enough for what? To get us to the next car? Sure. They’ll be plenty around the city, I figure.”

 

“We won't be going through though.”

 

“No.” He was chasing the last of the cooling food with two fingers, and Sansa thought again of spoons, if a little wistfully. Juice kept glancing at her from where she sat, back against the car, huddled with the other’s against the chill. Sansa had tried to catch her eye, but Juice had looked away then. She had changed at some point or another into the jeans Sansa had given her, too long and cuffed at the ankles. Her own clothing, and Sansa’s jacket, had been squirreled away somewhere.

 

“Good.” She hadn’t wanted to go back, to have to brave the tangle of cars again, though the Rotters would have to be long gone by then.

 

Though the sun had not yet dipped below the horizon, Sandor had risen to his feet, throwing the can away with a flick of the wrist, and turning towards the car. Sansa hurried after him, the cold air seeming even crueler without the warmth of him beside her.

 

Settling into her usual seat, she hesitated before closing the door. Sandor had not shut his own yet, sitting half in, half out of the car.

 

“Hey.”

 

He looked over at her.

 

“We’re OK, right?” 

 

She swallowed as he looked at her. There was a tension along her spine, and her lips felt too dry, though she did not lick them.

 

Finally, he glanced away, swinging his legs inside and closing the door behind himself. “Yeah. We’re OK, Sansa.”

 

She caught his knee as he settled into his seat. “Promise?”

 

She almost ducked away from his gaze as the word left her mouth. It was silly, a juvenile thing to say. Especially in light of the day’s events. But she’d meant it.

 

When he leaned towards her, she almost jumped, almost turned her face up to meet his, but then felt his cheek press against her own, felt the coldness of his nose against her ear. She closed her eyes, enjoying the the tickly, sensitive feel of his breath on her skin. When he withdrew, his eyes were bright, and a hand was high up on her thigh. There had been no chance to be alone, not really, since they had left. She had not felt the loss as acutely as she did now.

 

He didn’t answer her, but that hand stayed where it was, long after the others had climbed in as well.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm getting slow with these chapters. Sorry.

When Sandor slammed a hand down against the dashboard, hard, Sansa fully understood the sentiment. She would have made some form of protest as well, but she didn’t want to make any sort of disturbance, even one as small as Sandor’s had been.

 

“There’s no way we can go around?” Juice was leaning in from the backseat, trying to see over Sandor’s shoulder.

 

Sansa could see him take a long, deep breath before he replied. “We’re running on fumes  _ now. _ Don’t have near enough to get to the next town. This is it.”

 

Sansa stared at the town in front of them- she couldn’t see much from the edge of the road before it, where Sandor had pulled over, but it looked ominous to her. The buildings were tall, tall and close together, almost as though it were built in imitation of a city, despite the close-growing trees that surrounded it. The whole place looked gray and dismal.

 

“Let’s do this quick.”

 

She had been muttering more to herself than to anybody else, but Sandor answered her anyway. “If we’re stopping here, we might as well look around some. Try and find some food.”

 

“We still have plenty.” That wasn’t strictly true- they had far less than they’d started with, though still enough for a time more. Not enough to see them all the way to their destination, but maybe almost- if they were careful.

 

“Not enough.” He opened to door to the car, and Sansa supposed the others agreed, because they began unbuckling themselves as well. She followed suit, still feeling nervous and jumpy- or maybe that was because of the Rotter they’d hit last night. It had seemed to come from nowhere, and there had been a big thump as Sandor had screeched to a halt. At first, the thing seemed to have disappeared, but for the bloody smear on the road behind them. Then they’d heard it, twitching and scratching beneath the car. It had reached for them when Ben and Tommen had dragged it out, eyes rolling in a face half destroyed by the asphalt, until Juice had put her machete into one of those eyes.

 

Gripping her knife in one hand and touching her waistband with the other, Sansa made her way around the nose of the car to join the others. They advanced into the city-town together, ignoring the cars parked by the side of the street. They would come back for those cars and whatever fuel they contained after having their look around. 

 

The first store they entered had once been a corner deli- although blood stained the floor inside, Sansa could see no bodies. They fanned out together, everyone with weapons at the ready. When they found no discernible threat, Sandor stood watch at the door while Sansa pulled off her backpack, unzipping it, and waiting to receive any goods that might be handed to her.

 

“There’s nothing here.” Looking up, Sansa saw Juice scowling at the shelves, poking at displays as she passed them.

 

“There has to be- yes there is.” Sandor had turned away from the glass storefront to look over at them.

 

“She’s right- there’s  _ old _ stuff, stuff that’s all spoiled, but nothing we can eat.” Tommen gestured to the packs of cheese in the broken glass-fronted cold unit, and then to the empty racks by the register. “Look, even all the candy bars are gone.”

 

He was right, now that she looked properly. The cold units were still stocked, but everything else was stripped bare, boasting even less than the gas station back home.

 

The next store proved much the same- there were a few small things here, but not nearly enough to be worth it.

 

As they filed back out onto the empty street, Sansa bit her lip, turning to face the others. “This feels- wrong. Like someone else was already here.”

 

“Someone else  _ was _ already here,” Ben pointed out.

 

“I know that. I just mean that this whole place feels off. I don't like it.”

 

None of them had any reply for that.

 

“Let’s just- how about we circle around, see what else is here, and walk back to the car from the edge of town?”

 

Perhaps the others did feel as uneasy about the town as Sansa, even if they didn’t want to admit it, because everyone agreed to her suggestion.

 

The other streets- if you could call them that- only increased Sansa’s nerves. They were alleys really, with barely enough room for cars to pass by, and narrow sidewalks that were hardly wide enough for two of them to walk side by side. 

 

They made to turn down the alley that would lead them to the edge of town, some small distance from the van, when Sandor stopped abruptly, pushing a hand on Sansa’s shoulder as she came up behind him. She could see it too- the shambling figures moving past the distant end of the little alley. Gesturing to Ben, Tommen, and Juice coming up behind them, they hurried back a few steps to the last intersection, darting past the silent stop sign, and out of sight. Clustering together in a tight little knot, intermittently glancing back, they spoke in low, hushed voices.

 

“There might not be too many. Not for all of us,” Ben muttered, fingering his cleaver.

 

“ _ One _ is too many.” 

 

Sansa nodded. She didn’t like the word  _ might _ either.

 

“Should we go back? Down the main street again?” Juice was looking towards Sandor, though she cast a quick glance around the group of them as she spoke.

 

“Parallel, maybe? I don’t like this place. Might be good to keep a low profile.” Sandor glanced at Sansa, and she nodded. It really wasn’t just her, then.

 

They wound up crossing the main road quickly, one after another. Sansa’s heart was in her throat, thudding loudly in her ears. The air had grown colder as they had explored, and a few cold drops began to fall down on them from above. She kept close to Sandor as they walked along, more quickly as the rain began to fall more heavily. She could feel the water running under the collar of her jacket, and quickly drew up her hood.

 

They slipped through the streets, past empty houses and decimated store fronts. The rain had grown so heavy that when Sansa abruptly smacked into Sandor’s back, she couldn’t at first see why he had stopped. Only when he lunged forward did she see the skinny figure, only now sluggishly turning to look at them, as though it hadn’t noticed their approach either. 

 

By the time her knife came up and Tommen jogged to her side with his hammer in hand, it had already been done. Sandor was already turning back, swiping the blade of his knife against his pant leg, swiping the worst of the dark blood off of it. As he leaned towards them, opening his mouth, a crack of thunder had Sansa starting where she stood, glancing around despite herself.

 

“Lets go- get out of here. We’re almost there now.” Sandor had raised his voice, but the rain had grown so heavy that she could hardly hear him. She nodded to show her understanding.

 

He turned away, walking quickly enough that Sansa and Juice had to jog to keep up. They had reached the edge of town now, they were almost there. Then, they could-

 

Sansa groaned to herself. Why hadn’t they gotten the gas first, before looking around this stupid town where they had found  _ nothing? _ Now, they could either work in the rain, squinting through it to try and see anything approaching, or sit in the damn car until the downpour ended.

 

But when they rounded the corner, the line of cars by the side of the road coming into sight, Sansa stopped in her tracks, frowning. 

 

Turning to Ben beside her, she saw that he had paused as well. He was blinking the rain out of his eyes, heavy brows crinkled and pulled low over them.

 

“There’s something wrong.”

 

The others had stopped when the two of them had. Tommen looked confused, Juice impatient, but Sandor just looked at them, before glancing back at the line of cars, and at their own at the very end of them. “What is it?”

 

“I- I dunno,” Ben was still frowning, and looked towards Sansa.

 

“It just doesn’t feel right. I think there’s something there.”

 

“There isn’t- we can all see just as well as you, and there’s nothing.” Although Juice had snapped back nearly as soon as Sansa had finished speaking, the girl’s grip tightened on her machete, and she didn’t start walking again.

 

“Let’s just  _ look _ , OK?”

 

Sansa pushed past Sandor in front of her, edging past the building beside her. She swallowed, the rain pounding down on her, bouncing off of her hood and soaking into her jeans. It seemed a little silly with the noise of the rain all around them, but she took care to put her feet down gently, making no noise to announce her presence. Slipping past the building’s corner, Sansa moved back onto the sidewalk slowly, keeping her back pressed to the wall. 

 

At first, there was. Then, she began to see shapes forming through the grey downpour, and her breath caught in her throat. There was no questioning what they were- no humans fought and clawed like that, ripped into something like that. No living ones, anyway. There were more of them than she liked, and  _ far _ closer than she wanted.

 

She couldn’t quite see what it was they had gathered around. Something dead, of course. A blob of a shape, but she almost through she could make out it’s head. Was it-

 

Sansa felt a hand slip around her upper arm, and let it draw her back  behind Sandor’s stolid form, backing the both of them back around the corner. 

 

Being out of view did not feel like safety. Rather, Sansa felt herself glancing over her shoulder, feeling that the tight cluster of figures could exhaust their current meal and come looking for more, come pouring around that corner-

 

“Did you see? What it was, what they had?” Sansa had to stretch onto her toes to reach Sandor’s ear, putting her lips nearly against it before she spoke. 

 

He replied in kind, bending to reply when she had dropped back onto her feet. “Dog, I think. Coyote, maybe.”

 

Sansa nodded. Not that it would have mattered. Not really. It was just- that man, back at the beginning. She hadn’t looked, but she could not block out the screams, not even with both hands pressed over her ears as hard as she could. 

 

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t have helped him, even if she’d had- even if she’d tried- it was too late. She knew that. That was an old conversation, one she thought she’d finished a long time ago. It wasn’t welcome here, the memories or the way her hand trembled slightly around the hilt of her knife, no matter how hard she gripped it.

 

“Come on.” The others were already moving, and Sansa found herself whispering it over and over.

 

_ It was too late. You couldn’t have helped. It was too late. _

 

Too late for that nameless dead man, too late for Myranda, for Arya and Bran and Rob and little Rickon-

 

When Sandor moved, Sansa pulled her gun almost reflexively, her eyes darting to his own, held at the ready, and pushed past the other tense figures to the front of the group, where she stood beside Sandor, gun held out, squinting at the figures frozen in front of them.

 

Not Rotters, not by the flushed skin of the woman’s face, by the compound bow in her hands or the shotgun pointed at them by the man next to her.

 

No one moved. Through the rain, Sansa could hear absolutely nothing. She seemed to have stopped breathing, turned into a statue. She couldn’t turn her gaze from the two in front of them, could not turn to see who Sandor might be looking at. 

 

The man. He would shoot the man, who looked to be aiming right at him.

 

Sansa looked towards the woman. Her face stood out under her dark hood, a good target in the rain. She wasn’t far away. No further, anyhow, than the Rotters that Sansa had shot. So why couldn’t her hands stop shaking?

 

The woman had an arrow in her bow, and it was drawn tight, the point wavering between Sansa and Sandor. The dark pink of her tongue was almost startling when she licked her lips. Sansa watched as she drew in a breath, and realized all in a rush that the woman meant to speak.

 

Both arrow and shotgun swiveled her way when Sansa pulled back a hand from the gun to press a finger to her lips. Sandor had moved too, his free hand dropping to grip her arm, though he did not attempt to pull her back.

 

The man looked at her, rain dripping off of his sodden hair, and raised an eyebrow, jerking a thumb towards the corner behind them.

 

Sansa swallowed hard, and nodded.

 

For a long moment, they all just stood there, weapons trained on one another. Juice had started up beside Sansa when she’d moved, and stood pressed hip to hip with her. Sansa could feel the other girl’s tension, the slight trembling in her muscles.

 

The man and woman glanced at one another. Then, slowly, they began to back up. After a beat, Sandor followed suit, gun still drawn, and Sansa followed, away from the corner and what lay beyond.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna try and get these chapters out at least once a week, if I can. I'm making a commitment to myself to get this and my other fic done by the time the new season starts in April.

When enough distance had passed for a feeling of relative safety, Sansa stopped, unwilling to move further from the car. At her halt, they all stopped their movement, weapons still drawn and at the ready.

 

“Passing through?” The dark-haired woman was looking at Sansa, looking right at her. What did you say to somebody you had a gun trained on, who had an arrow pointed at you in turn?

 

“Yeah-” She cleared her throat, willing her voice not to break. “We were just passing through, and we don’t want any trouble. We’re just leaving.”

 

Still, nobody moved. The Rotters were behind, and the man and woman in front, with an oppressive wall of trees to one side and a building to the other. Sansa resisted to urge to glance towards Sandor, though she wished that he would have been addressed instead of herself. He would know what to do, he  _ had  _ to. But looking to him for help- that would show a part of her to these strangers, a part that she did not want them seeing. She could work out what to say, what to do, without having to-

 

“Look.” Sansa flinched as the woman moved, but she was actually relaxing the tension on her bowstring, though she did not remove the arrow. Glancing to his companion, the man lowered his shotgun, though he too made no move to actually set aside his weapon. “We don’t want trouble either. At all. We just- are there- is this all of you?”

 

Tension roiling in her stomach, Sansa finally cast a glance towards Sandor just as he spoke. “Doesn’t matter. We’re leaving.” 

 

He made no move to enter the woods. Sansa thought of the closely hanging branches, and felt a fresh wave of nervousness wash through her. It was the only way to walk away from the strangers. It was already hard enough too see through the rain, and among the trees it would be even worse.

 

“I only ask because we’re supposed to tell people. Mychel and I, we live near here. Lots of us do.” She actually put down her bow, though the man- Mychel- did not follow suit. “We’ve got room, and we need more people. We’re supposed to ask anyone that we see, bring them back to see it.” 

 

Sansa did not know what her face looked like, or what the others were displaying on their own, but the woman hastily added, “If you want, I mean. We don’t  _ force- _ but you should see it. It’s safe, I promise, and I’ve been there for months now. Just, if you want to, you can come. Come and see. Do you have a car?”

 

Sansa opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Sandor cut in with a terse reply of his own. “No.”

 

“Oh. We do. You can come with us if you want.”

 

“Why do you care?” Juice had move forward slightly, ahead of Sansa now. “Why do any of you care, why do you want us to come?”

 

“Because it’s shit out here, and we all know that.” The other woman was speaking easily now, her words flowing. “Some people are rough, but you can usually tell.” She glanced at Sandor as she spoke, her gaze then flicking over the rest of them. “And most everybody just wants to be safe. That’s what we all want.”

 

Sansa opened her mouth, then closed it again. The tension in her chest was rising into almost a panic. What choices were there here that made any sense? None of the ones she could think up sounded much good.

 

“You can talk if you like. We’ll wait some, but not for very long. We have to get back- there’s a lot of the Biters here now, and we need to go. You should too, even if you don’t come. We saw more than we liked when we came through.”

 

She picked up her bow again once she’d finished her speech, but did not nock an arrow. Instead, she and the man beside her continued their slow backing up, not stopping until their faces were made blurry by the rain.

 

Sansa edged closer to Sandor until they stood with his hip pressed to her side. She felt more than saw the other three crowd up beside them, whispers passing back and forth quickly.

 

“What do you think?”

 

“Who  _ asks _ someone to their camp like that? Just like that?”

 

“Doesn’t anybody?” Sansa did not move her eyes from the two figures ahead as she spoke. It seemed the thing to do- after all, she had. Twice.

 

“No. Nobody who’s any good, anyway.”

 

“Why not?”

 

It was Sandor who answered her this time. “Cause it’s hard enough keeping yourself alive, you and whoever your with. If you’ve got all you need, why bring in more people to use it up.” Sansa, glancing over at him out of the corner of her eye, saw him grimace, the movement stretching his scars grotesquely over the bones of his face, slippery and shiny with the rain. “And if they ask you to join, usually they need something from you. Or want it, anyway.”

 

Those girls, and the men Sandor had been with before Sansa. The dead ones. “So why- I mean, she’s there, isn’t she? The girl? It can’t be that.”

 

“I guess not.” Juice sounded terse, almost annoyed. Had she had any problems, in the past? Sansa had never asked. She didn’t talk much to anyone besides Sandor.

 

“What do you think?” Sansa couldn’t help but to twitch at the voice in her ear, though she had felt Ben approach from behind. She didn’t have to look to see who he was talking to. To her surprise, Sandor stayed quiet. She had heard enough of his stories to know that he didn’t like trusting people, that he thought it was stupid in this new world. And maybe even before.

 

“Well?” Was there something about those two that had made him believe them?

 

“I think that-”

 

Sandor cut Juice off before she could finish. “We’ll go to their car. Have a look. Talk some. Then we’ll figure what to do.”

 

Sansa let out her breath in a whoosh, feeling some of the panic drain away. There were still good people out here, she knew that. Perhaps these two numbered among them.

 

Sandor strode forward, and Sansa fell in behind him, glad to be in his shadow and following in his lead. Mychel looked up at their approach, and though he looked a little wary, he did not raise his weapon. Mya had put aside her arrow altogether, and had slung the bow over her shoulder.

 

“You’ll come then?” Mychel’s voice was deep and mellow. He was a big man, taller than Tommen by a few inches. He had to look up to meet Sandor’s eyes, and Sansa could see the rain running over his face.

 

“Far as the car, at least. We want to talk.”

 

Mychel glanced towards Mya, who nodded. She looked at them for a long moment. “This is all of you then?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned her back to them, gesturing for them to move onward. “It’s not far to our car- just this way.”

  
  


\--------

  
  


The walk around the edge of the town was quiet except for the rain. It was starting to chill Sansa now, working its way under the collar of her jacket, soaking her shirt. She had not put away her gun, and the rain had left her fingers numb and tingly. Mya led the way, with the occasional glance over her shoulder. Mychel walked beside Sandor. He had at first attempted to drop back to walk behind them, but Sandor had merely slowed along with him. It seemed to mollify him when Sansa came up to walk beside them on Sandor’s other side.

 

The other side of town took some time to reach; the woods to Sansa’s right growing more oppressive by the minute. But she much preferred it to walking beside the strange man.

 

“We’re nearly there. Just off the road a bit, so be ready.”

 

Sansa tightened her grip on the pistol. Tommen appeared to her right, knife in one hand and hammer in the other. He glanced at her, and Sansa quickly turned her gaze away.

 

At the edge of the last scattered row of buildings, the road stretched on, grey and empty. A few more cars dotted the edge of it, but Mya turned away from them, slipping off the road into a sizable gap in the trees. The pace slowed then, and Mya drew an arrow from her quiver, bow back in her hand. She stopped suddenly, just ahead of them.

 

“Shit,  _ shit _ .” Sansa could see the vague shape of something big under the trees, and several smaller shapes moving around it. Mya glanced back, though this time she was looking only at Mychel. “They can’t get in- all this time, three days- we can’t let them.”

 

“We won’t.” Mychel sounded grim. He moved the shotgun to his left hand, and pulled a short, broad knife from his belt with the other. “We won’t let them.”

 

The two of them moved forward a few paces, ignoring Sansa and the others completely. She blinked through the rain, trying to make out the large shape. It looked brown and lumpy, though the part nearest them was different, somehow.

 

Mya nocked an arrow. She looked back towards them, but said nothing. Her eyes were narrowed and focused. Sansa glanced at Sandor. His knife was out, but the gun was still in hand. Sansa did the same, although she doubted her own ability to use it well with her left hand.

 

Mya drew the arrow back against her cheek. The figures at the large shape were beginning to turn, though some of them had not, were still stumbling and clawing against the side of the thing. When she let loose, one of them fell, the noise of the body hitting the forest floor almost inaudible in the downpour. Mychel stood still beside her as she drew again, and yet another one fell. Then she drew back, fumbling for more arrows as the remaining figure reached Mychel. He moved quickly, striking it down in a motion that looked almost graceful. By the time the remaining two figures at the shape turned, their fellows were dead. An arrow met one, and Mychel the other.

 

Sansa swallowed. Mychel glanced back over his shoulder. “There’s enough room for everyone.” He reached towards the brown shape, gripping and pulling something back. Mya hurried forward to help him, shaking the gore off of her recovered arrows. Between the two of them, they pulled a large, heavy fabric to crumple on the ground at their feet. 

 

Beneath it had been a large RV, very white and clean looking in the darkness. Sansa approached cautiously, feeling Tommen and Sandor move closer to her on each side. On closer inspection, the fabric looked like a few tarps held together somehow. Mya bent to pull one of the bodies away from the door, grunting under the weight. After a brief hesitation, Ben moved forwards to help her, sticking his crowbar back into his belt. 

 

Filing into the space, Sansa’s first impression was the smell. A musty, earthy, animal smell. Mychel, who had gone in first, thumped his way to the drivers seat, and turned the key. Mya flicked a light on, and Sansa could see why the Rotters had been so intently trying to break in. A deer lay stiff and dead in a corner, blood staining the cloth beneath it. Several other, smaller kills lay around it, ranging from a string of squirrels to a large, dead raccoon. Sansa’s mouth watered as Mychel passed Mya his backpack, and she upended a bloodstained possum onto the pile. The smell was far from appetizing, but her stomach grumbled just the same.

 

Though the RV was much more spacious than their own vehicle, Sansa still felt cramped, too close to Mya in the space inside. She had closed the door behind them, against the rain and the night and what other Rotters might be out there, looking for an easy meal. She was all too aware that they were dripping onto the floor, that Sandor had to bend his knees to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling.

 

Mya turned around, looking expectantly at them. “You have questions, then?”

 

“I- yeah.” Sansa glanced towards Sandor. He had made the decision to come here. Surely it should be he asking the questions.

 

After a brief moment of silence, he did. “How many of you are at this- place.”

 

“Around a hundred.” 

 

Sansa couldn’t help but to suck in a soft breath. She shot a glance towards Juice, and was gratified to see the other girl looking equally dumbfounded. What place could hold so many people? She had wondered, of course, if there were any  _ large _ groups out there, but until learning of Fort Aster, the idea had seemed ludicrous. If there were big groups, she had thought, why wouldn’t they come and get people? Communicate with other groups, get the government up and running again? Those thoughts seemed naive now. This group would be doing just what she had done. Just trying to stay alive.

 

“And- where are you staying? Camp? Town?”

 

“The Compound.” Mychel had swung around in his seat, elbow resting on the side of it so that he might join the conversation. In this better lighting, Sansa could see that he was younger than she had though. Maybe even younger than Mya, who couldn’t be more than a few years older than Sansa herself. “We call it the Compound. But it was a private school, before. There were fences, and everything there that we needed. Even a pond, and a few little streams in the grounds.” 

 

He shrugged as they all turned to face him. “I wasn’t there when it got started. But from what I’ve been told, it was the elementary school. Couple of teachers started all this, went there to hunker down with their families. And the rest of us just showed up. Trickled in, I guess.” He shrugged again.

 

“I’ve been here since just before the winter,” Mya gestured towards the man behind her,” and Mychel came in just after that.”

 

“You said you wanted more people.” Sandor was looking at Mya, although his gaze briefly flicked to Mychel as well.

 

“Well- yeah. We’ve got some people calling the shots, if you like, and they think we should expand. Build a community. We have the elementary school, and he wants to clear the secondary school too. For when more people come. So, when me and Myc see anyone when we’re out here, we ask them along.” She smiled quickly. “We usually see them before they see us, and work out if we want to ask at all.”

 

“How do you feed so many?” Sansa had meant to keep her silence, to leave the uncomfortable task of asking questions to Sandor, but it burst out before she could stop it. It had been hard enough to sustain herself, and harder still for her and Sandor to gather enough supplies to last the winter.

 

“We hunt some- as you can see.” she gestured towards the heap of dead animals, and it struck Sansa again just how  _ much _ was there. It was a wealth more visceral than she’d seen since Before. “And there was a garden. It was only a little one, from some of the students I figure. And mostly flowers. But there were some vegetables too, and from what I hear, they expanded that. I didn’t get to see it myself really, but I’ve tasted it quite a bit. We scavenge what we can too. When we go out hunting.”

 

“Must be difficult.”

 

Mya shrugged. “We do alright. Better than most. Better than I was doing before I came here, anyway.”

 

Silence fell, and Sansa felt a little uncomfortable. It felt small and stuffy in here, with the rain pounding on the roof. She looked up at Sandor. He looked back at her. And kept right on looking. 

 

Sansa looked back at him. Then, squaring her shoulders, she nodded. He turned his gaze on Tommen, who looked down at his feet for a long moment before nodding as well. Ben took no time to consider, agreeing as soon and Sandor’s eyes fell upon him. Juice was biting her lip, but made no disagreement.

 

Sandor turned back towards Sansa, eyeing her for a long moment before turning back to Mya. “How far is it?”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another of my once every few weeks postings. Arrgh, it's hard to believe I used to do a chapter every day or two days. What have I become?!?!?
> 
> If there are any inconsistencies, however small, let me know? I used to reread the whole thing before my final edit to make sure, but this has gotten way too long to do that with anymore.

The big camper bounced and wobbled as they made their way down the road. Sansa swayed in her seat, feeling both protected and restrained by the little table in front of her, and by Sandor to one side and Ben crammed in on the other. Mya was sitting opposite them, watching them and biting her lip. 

 

She was a pretty girl, even through the wet of the rain on her face and the blood on her jacket. She’d gotten even wetter when Mychel had pulled out of the alcove. He’d stopped, she’d jumped out, and Sansa had been confused until she’d seen Mya stamping down over the tire marks, obscuring the with her own prints, or kicking leaves over them. She’d also moved the Rotters’ bodies into the trees, a task which had taken some time. Mychel had opened his window, and held the gun at the ready, though he made no move to join her. When Mya had entered the, they’d begun to move at last, driving away from the town, down an unfamiliar road.

 

“You know our names.” Mya was looking at them, right down the row. “What’re yours?”

 

“I’m Sansa. This here’s Sandor.”

 

“Ben.” The boy spoke quietly, and Sansa could feel him shifting beside her as Tommen and Juice gave their names.

 

“So-” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “What’s- tell us about it. This place.”

 

“Well,” Mya drew out the word, her eyes on Sansa’s face. “It’s a rich place. You wouldn’t think to look at it, but we have a lot to offer. Fresh grown vegetables I already said, and there’s plenty of game around here, as you can see.” Her vague gesture towards the pile of carcasses behind her.

 

“We’ve got a good thing going, I figure. Good for how things are now. We have families there, with kids, and even a little girl born after all this started. Everyone has a job, so’s we can take care of each other. That’s what we do. Look out for one another.”

 

_ Of course, they’re all one big happy family. How could it be any other way? _

 

Nothing Mya was saying rang false to Sansa’s ears, but it seemed too happy a picture to paint.

 

“You know we’re not staying. I mean- we’re headed to the South.”

 

Mya shrugged. “So are lots of people. So  _ were  _ lots of people. Most of them change their mind once they see the Compound.”

 

“Doesn’t cause issues? So many people together like that.” Sandor’s voice was low and rough in her ear.

 

“Well- he have scrapes, like everyone does. But we work things out. The man in charge- you’ll meet him, he’ll want a look at you before you come in- if things really go bad, some fight or disagreement that can’t be solved, we take things to him.”

 

“Who’s this man?” She couldn’t help but to balk at the thought of some person who could make decisions on her behalf. Before the winter, at the beginning of things, it would have seemed the height of luxury. That someone else would have to make the hard choices, that someone else could take that weight of decisions off of her shoulders would have made her sigh with relief. But not now- not one man, at any rate. Not when the only people she in any way trusted were gathered around her.

 

“Does- does no one else get a say?”

 

“Of course,” Mya answered impatiently, waving a hand as though to push away the question. “Royce- the man in charge, that is, isn’t the only one calling the shots. There’s other folks, mostly those that others wanted in the council. They don’t really get voted in per say, but people ask for them to be inducted, and if enough people ask, they are. And if anybody’s really _ that _ unhappy, they leave. A few people have done that before. Go looking for their families, or just leave because they don’t like how rationing is done, or whatever.”

 

Sansa nodded slowly. It was good that she spoke of people leaving so casually. Or maybe it wasn’t so good- if this place was all that she claimed, surely nobody would want to leave. 

 

Perhaps they would once they knew. There was a better place out there, a place that would surely put this one to shame.

 

“It’s not far now.” Mychel was turning onto a small paved road, overgrown with weeds and flanked by stone posts topped with wrought iron lamp posts. It must have been stately Before, but now everything was overgrown and made bedraggled by the pouring rain, as though it had been abandoned for years.

 

Sansa looked over at Mya, wishing that she could think of something more to say, to ask. 

But maybe it was better this way. The sudden end to the trees showed that the time for asking had passed. There were fields of tall grass to left and right, and a tall metal gate approaching. As they grew nearer, Sansa pressed to the window to see. But there was no building in sight- only that tall gate, and a small collection of cars outside of it.

 

Mychel pulled to a stop beside the cars, and Sansa bit her lip as they shuddered to a halt. She looked up at Sandor beside her. His face was unreadable, but she thought he felt tense beside her. She wished that she could take his hand.

 

Mychel jumped out of the RV first, jogging through the rain to the gate. He seemed to be speaking with someone, though she couldn’t see if it was one or many.  _ More than a hundred, Mya said. _

 

At his gesture, Mya turned to them. “Come on then.” 

 

Sansa hesitated. “Why-”

 

“Oh, the gate doesn’t open. It was electric, and it rusted to hell, anyway. So we climb over now. You’ll see.” Exiting the car, she moved quickly towards the fence. 

 

Sansa rose stiffly to her feet, very aware of her chafing jeans and water-filled boots. She glanced back towards the others. “Are- are we all sure about this?” She had been. But now, looking at that thick concrete fence, and thinking about the sheer amount of people on the other side of it, she was not so certain.

 

“No.” Tommen pulled his hat further down over his ears, water dripping from the ends of his hair over his cheeks. “But we’re here, so we’d better get certain. It’s not like we can drive away quick.”

 

“Don’t think they want to rob us- too risky, inviting us here. With so many of us.”

 

“But there’s more of them.” Sana wanted to lean into his touch as he pressed a hand to her hip, moving past her towards the door, but now was not the time nor the place.

 

“That was true where we were headed too, wasn’t it?”

 

That wasn’t the same. But she followed him anyway, out into the rain.

  
  


\-------

  
  


Shifting in place, she couldn’t help the restless tapping of her foot against the ground.

 

Tap tap tap.

 

She could hear it, could feel her foot moving, but couldn’t stop it somehow. They were sitting, shivering in a small trailer, set away from the bulk of the building. She’d wanted to stop outside, despite the rain, to get a better look at it as a whole, but Mya, Mychel, and the third man who’d come with them from the gate had hustled them inside. That man was sitting with them now, while Mychel and Mya went to fetch the man who would tell them if they were fit to stay here for a time. Royce, Mya had called him.

 

Her nose was running, and she wiped it absently on her sleeve. The room was small and uninteresting, but Sansa glanced around nonetheless, as though it would give some hint as to the rest of the building. It was clearly an entryway of a kind- there was a small bathroom that Mychel had said that they could use if they wanted, while they were waiting, and a long faux wood table with built in benches stood in the middle of the room, taking up the lion’s share of the space. They had seated themselves together on one side of it, and Sansa had noted that it was meant more for children than for adults. Ben had jammed himself in with difficulty, and Sandor had not even tried at all, sitting facing away from the table. Flickering candles sat in the middle, the only light besides the faint daylight coming in through the windows. The rain tapped a relentless beat on the tin ceiling.

 

After a time, the sound of footsteps had her sitting up, restless foot suddenly stilling on the floor. The sound was not coming from the hallway where they had entered, but from the other end of the room, from where the trailer must eventually join with the rest of the school building. Sandor stood behind her, and Sansa hesitated, wondering if she should rise as well. But her seat was small enough that to do so would involve an undignified scrabble.

 

When the two men entered, with Mya and Mychel trailing behind, it became a moot point. They were well groomed men, clean and neatly dressed. The one leading the way was large and broad-shouldered, with graying hair falling to his shoulders and a squarely trimmed beard nearly to his chest. He wore dark pants and a thick, grey sweater, with a large steel watch on his left wrist. Sansa caught her breath as he looked them over, his gaze resting only briefly on her. He was so- clean. His clothes and his hair and all the rest of him. Had she been that clean?

 

She  _ felt _ dirty, wrinkled and bedraggled and unwashed, and she had to resist the urge to try and smooth her hair back behind her ears, feeling for tangles. But it didn’t matter. The man wasn’t looking at her.

 

“Nestor Royce.” He was holding a hand out to Sandor, and after a brief hesitation, Sandor took it briefly.

 

Royce sat himself in a chair against the wall. Like Sandor and Ben, he looked too large to sit at the table with comfort. “Tell me about this.”

 

“This?” Sandor had followed the man’s lead, and taken one of the wooden chairs for himself, although it was still a bit small for him.

 

“About you and your- companions.” His gesture took in Sansa, Ben, Tommen, and Juice, although he did not look over at them. Sansa glanced up at the people behind Royce. With the exception of the man who had waited with them, all were standing behind him, like honor guards of a kind. Mya and Mychel were watching the exchange between their leader and Sandor with a casual sort of interest, but the last man was not. He met Sansa’s gaze when she turned to face him, and a shock went through her as their eyes met. He was much smaller than the other man, perhaps even shorter than Sansa herself, with short, neatly combed hair, and a small pointed beard. He wore nondescript dark clothing, as neat and well cared for as Royce’s. 

 

Sansa turned away, heat rising inexplicably in her cheeks. There was nothing special about the man who had been looking at her. No especial interest in the look. His hands had been clasped behind his back, an expression of mild interest upon his face. But it was like he  _ knew _ her, had recognized her somehow. But she didn’t know him.

 

“-Sansa sat out the winter together. That was how we met.” She started a little in at the sound of her name. Sandor was speaking now, in a measured voice, jerking his chin at each individual as he spoke. “The others came along in the spring, and Tommen already knew Sansa and me. We knew it was about time to move on, move away from everything, so we joined up. Been together since.”

 

“Why move away from a place of safety, where you spent the winter?”

 

That was the small man, who had startled Sansa so with his look, although he was not looking at her now. He was watching Sandor, a small almost-smile upon his lips.

 

Sandor shrugged. “Had to go further and further out for food. Knew it couldn’t last forever.”

 

Tommen fidgeted a little beside her, and Sansa could feel Juice tense on her other side, but neither said anything.

 

Royce seemed to have no compunctions as to the matter. “Very well. Mychel tells me you plan to stay only a few days?”

 

“If you’re agreeable.” Sansa thought Sandor stood a little straighter, broadened his stance some. Maybe he was as nervous as she was.

 

Royce shrugged. “As you will. Though I think, the longer you stay the more you’ll wish to stay. You will be fed and given a place to sleep, as are all who stay here. Like them, you’ll be expected to work to earn your keep.” For the first time since he’d sat, he turned to include Sansa and the others in his conversation.

 

“You’ll find we have quite a good system here. Those who work and earn their place receive the spoils of their labor. There is no violence here, no fighting or bloodshed. All who stay here know their place, and work to keep us in comfort and safety. I expect the same of all of you, however long you choose to stay.”

 

Sansa nodded a little hesitantly, stopping abruptly when she noticed that no one else had moved. But her acquiescence seemed to be enough, as Royce rose heavily to his feet, and left with a nod. No one else moved.

 

“Your weapons.”

 

Sansa looked around with a jerk, and realized that the small man with the pointed beard was holding a sort of chest, which he’d pulled from under his chair. She opened her mouth as though to protest, but then closed it again. None of the others seemed surprised. One by one, they removed their various weapons, the guns and knives and other paraphernalia that had kept them safe thus far.

 

Each of them also opened their packs, one by one, and each was carefully checked. They did not take the spare bullets.

 

When Sansa, the last among them to give up her weapons, had pulled the gun from her jeans and the knife from her hip, the man turned to leave, carrying the chest with him. 

 

“We’ll get them back?” Ben called after him.

 

The man turned back. “You will. When you’ve been here long enough to prove yourselves. Or when you leave,” he added, almost in afterthought. Then he was gone.

 

“Come on,” Sansa turned back to Mya, absently rubbing at her hip where her knife had been. “You to with me, this way, you others with Mychel.” She was walking briskly towards one of the doors, one of the candles from the table in her hand. 

 

Glancing back at Mychel, Sansa saw him gesturing Sandor, Tommen, and Ben through another. She and Juice followed Mya into what looked like a classroom, square with a whiteboard against one wall and many small desks stacked and pushed against another. The third wall had another of those tables, with piles of clothes stacked neatly on top of it.

 

“What are-”

 

But the door opened behind her before Sansa could ask, and a plumpish woman came in, puffing under the weight of two buckets of water, steaming lightly. She was followed by a small girl, pulling along a sack almost as large as she was, staring around it at Sansa and Juice with large eyes.

 

“Thanks, Pat.” Mya hurried over to take one of the buckets, hauling it over to the table. “Oh, it’s warm? Bless you!”

 

The woman took the sack from the girl, opening it to reach inside. “And towels,” she said, slightly breathlessly, pulling out three, one after another, and tossing them on the table. They looked more like rags to Sansa.

 

The woman smiled at Sansa and Juice, and left without another word, toting the other bucket of water and the slightly deflated sack. The girl trailed after, craning over her shoulder to get a better look at them. Once they had left, Mya strode over to close the door, and clapped her hands together once she had. “Right. Part of entry, I’ve got to make sure you’ve not been bit. Then we all clean up a bit, and I’ll show you and your friends to a room.”

 

Sansa just stared at her for a moment. Mya frowned. “Come on, before the water gets cold. It’s not like I enjoy this, it just has to be done.”

 

Reluctantly, Sansa exchanged a glance with Juice, who made a face but began plucking at her jacket buttons. Reluctantly, Sansa removed her own jacket with fumbling fingers. Layer after layer came off, and as she was removing her final sweater, Sansa became aware that her smallest knife was still on her wrist. The just-in-case knife. She froze, sweater pulled half off of her shoulders. Could she pull it off, hide it somehow?

 

“What’ve you got there?”

 

Sansa jumped, turning to see Mya  _ right there _ , squinting at her partially unclothed body.

 

“I-” Sansa let out a long breath. It was no good. Pulling the sweater the rest of the way off, she showed Mya the knife strapped to her forearm. “I forgot, I swear. I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

 

The strap had become swollen with the rain, and it twisted a little as Sansa struggled to undo it. When it finally came undone, leaving pale marks behind on her arm, she held it out to Mya. When the other girl took it, she felt a sense of profound loss, and even more exposed, even though her undershirt and jeans were still on. She watched as Mya turned and just put it on the table, next to the pile of scraps that were meant to be towels.

 

“Go one then.” Mya, still fully clothed, turned back to face them. Jaw clenched, Sansa kicked off her boots, wriggled out of her jeans, and pulled her undershirt off. Juice had done the same beside her, and was standing there in nothing but a grubby pair of cotton panties, hands cupped over her chest, scowling. At least Sansa had a bra on. And she wouldn’t be taking it off, not if she could help it.

 

Luckily, Mya did not seem inclined to make her, She looked cursorily at first Sansa’s body, then Juice’s, waving for them to turn around. They did so, Sansa looking at the floor between her socked feet.

 

“Sorry about that.” When they turned around again, Mya was stripping herself. Like Juice, she wore no bra, but unlike Juice, she seemed utterly embarrassed by that fact. Moving to the table, she took one of the scraps of cloth, wet it in the water from the bucket, and began to rub herself down.

 

When Sansa turned to glance at Juice, she saw that the girl was already looking at her, seeming a little hesitant. Sansa shrugged, and moved forward to take up a piece of toweling herself. It made her feel better that at least Mya was unclothed as well. For a few quiet moment, all three of them wiped the grime from their bodies. The water, though no more than lukewarm, was welcome on her skin. There was no soap.

 

When they were through, Mya tossed the towel to the side, motioning for Sansa and Juice to do the same. “We’ll wash those tomorrow, I’ll show you two where. For now, you can wear these.”

 

She was pointing to where the stacks of clothes sat, and Sansa approached almost cautiously. The knife still sat on the table, drawing her eye.

 

“These look new.” Juice had picked up a pair of sweatpants, fingering the tag still on them.

 

“They are. There was a mall nearby. It was Petyr’s idea really, though Royce would tell you that it was his if you asked. Newcomers get new clothes. We all got some for ourselves too, of course.”

 

“Petyr?” Sansa took up the sweatpants that Juice had put aside. All the jeans looked too small or far too big, but these might work.

 

“Oh, that’s the man who came in with Royce. He’s on the counsel too.”

 

Sansa pulled on the jeans, and picked out a clean t-shirt and hoodie, both too big for her, but clean and dry at least. Juice had found a pair of cargo pants and a sweater.

 

As Sansa bent to shove her feet back into her boots, Mya, also freshly clad, sat down on the edge of the table facing them.

 

“Before we go back out there. There’s some things I’ve got to tell you.”

 

Sansa pulled her long tail of wet hair out of the neck of her hoodie, away from her skin. “What do you mean? What kind of things?”

 

“Some- rules.” Mya’s face had grown serious and her tone, casual thus far, matched. “Look. You, Sansa, you’re with that man? The big one?”

 

“What’s it to you?” She found herself drawing closer to Juice.

 

“You’d be surprised.” Mya didn’t look away.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What about you?” Mya had turned to look over at Juice, who shifted closer to Sansa in turn.

 

“No. Not that it’s any of your business.”

 

“I’d pick one of them boys. Whoever you can trust.”

 

“I can trust-” Juice drew herself up to the totality of her diminutive height. “What the fuck do you mean, huh? What are you talking about?”

 

“Tell us.”

 

They stood facing her, and Mya watched them, still perched on the edge of the table. Her hand flashed out suddenly, and Juice cried out, reaching over as though to pull Sansa back. But there was only a soft thump square in the middle of her chest, and when she reflexively reached up to grab what had been tossed at her, she found herself holding the knife.

 

Looking up, clutching the little knife in both hands, she looked up only to meet Mya’s dark eyes. “Don’t use it.”

 

_ That depends. _

 

“What rules,” she repeated, replacing the knife on her arm. She felt better to have it back. She usually did not even think of it at all, but it’s absence had been remarkably acute.

 

“Not-” Mya grimaced a little, showing pale, if crooked, teeth glinting in the flickering candlelight. “Not rules like that they’re on a list somewhere. They’re the sort people don’t talk about. But you’ve probably noticed, there’s not so many women who survived this. Not many women here. So it’s sort of-  _ expected _ that we take care of our men.” She spoke the last two words a bit forcefully, her mouth twitching as she stopped speaking.

 

“You mean-”

 

Mya nodded.

 

Sansa looked down, drawing breath sharply through her nose. “We’re not staying, I already said.”

 

“You might. And even if you don’t, you’ll be here a few days. I said there weren’t many women here. How many of them are young? Guess.” She folded her arms, staring across at them.

 

“Did they tell you to tell us? Royce, and all them old  _ men _ on the council? To tell us that we have to fuck them or leave?” Juice was speaking quickly, her voice rising as she spoke.

 

“No. Like I said. It’s kind of unspoken. And keep you’re voice down, will you?” She was glancing towards the door.

 

“Why?” Sansa felt a little like shouting herself, but her voice felt too shaky for that. “Don’t want them to know that you tricked up here?”

 

“Mya rolled her eyes. I didn’t trick-”

 

“Yes you did!” Juice was standing beside Sansa, arms akimbo. “Why didn’t you tell us before then, when we were all together? Why not?”

 

“Because the last time I did that, I got punched in the face,” Mya said calmly. “Besides. I think it’s better for the women to know the rules before the men. More choices that way. Also, it’s not so bad as it sounds. I know what you think-”

 

“Yeah right.” Juice was sneering at the other girl, hand twitching for a machete that was not there.

 

“You-” Sansa had looked up at her suddenly. “You and Mychel-”

 

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I got lucky with Mychel. Like I said, he came in a bit after I did, and it sort of just happened.”

 

“And before?”

 

Mya shrugged. “They tried. Came up to me, told me a had to pull my weight. I was working just as hard as all them women, harder than others. So I started going out hunting too. They couldn’t complain then.”

 

“And women without someone?”

 

“Are expected to be  _ available.  _ Most just pick someone. The ones who don’t all-” She smiled a bit sardonically, “-look a bit like you. Young, pretty. They don't get as many chores as the others. And the men give them presents sometimes.”

 

She turned to face Sansa square on. “You should be alright. Just stick close to your man. You heard Royce, no fighting allowed, and there’s not many who’d want to mess with him anyway. And you-” She turned to face Juice. “-just stick close to your friends. You leave in a few days, you shouldn’t have any problems. If you stay, then it’s up to you. Look, I just want you all to know what this is. It’s a good spot here, people are mostly decent. ‘Cept for the rules. You work with them, everybody works with you.”

 

She picked up the candle, illuminated by the flickering light. “Just be careful. It gets pretty dull around here in the winter. Lots of chores to do, not much excitement. And you two are new. Some might think exciting. Just be careful.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait.

The room they were shown to was square and clean, entirely devoid of furniture or other storage. The girl, Mya, walked ahead of them, and Mychel behind. Sandor wondered at the behavior of the two women- Sansa walking close beside him, arm nearly touching his own was no surprise. But Juice keeping almost closer at his other side was. Neither had said anything, had indicated with word or gesture that something had happened. But here he was, sandwiched improbably between the two of them, Juice’s tousled head nearly brushing his sleeve.

 

“It’s not the most comfortable,” Mya said, although she did not sound altogether apologetic. Maybe because she knew that four walls and relative safety were as comfortable as anyone could possibly hope for. “But it’ll do. Once people stay- then they make things homier.” Turning towards Sansa, Mya pushed a small bundle towards her. “Some food, for the night. And a blanket. Just the one I’m afraid, we don’t have many of those to spare.”

 

“Is that the welcome wagon?” He could just see her face in the flicker of Mya’s candle, and he almost thought she was smiling. Almost.

 

Mya did not smile. “Candle in there too, with the lighter. Do not use that if you can help it- we’ve only got so many. If you do, keep it on the holder. We collect the wax.” She turned from Sansa to survey the rest of them, an offhand sort of glance. “Restroom’s where I showed you. Me or Mychel will be around in the morning, to show you around, assign chores. Royce says he’s rather you not wander ‘till then”

 

And she was gone, closing the door softly behind them. Sandor reached forward, touching the doorknob- there was a lock, and he flipped it shut. The darkness would have been complete but for the large window along the far wall, admitting faint light despite the pounding rain.

 

As one, they gathered around the vague source of light clustering together into a tight knot. Sansa pulled open the bundle, bending to squint inside. She squatted, crouching on the ground to open it entirely. Sandor lowered himself to his knees, aware of the others doing the same around him. The locked door gave some small feeling of security, enough to turn his back to it, but not much. They were still here, in this strange place, surrounded by unknown people.

 

The bundle proved to hold a whole jar of something red, that looked like some sort of vegetable, the promised candle and lighter, a couple of chipped mugs, and about a gallon of water in an old detergent bottle, all held together by a flannel blanket.

 

They each had a small amount of the water, fresh but for the plastic taste from the bottle. When Ben had put it down, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, Tommen spoke.

 

“Well?” They all turned towards him. Sansa was pressed up against Sandor’s arm. He could feel the bony jut of her elbow digging into the meat of his thigh. “So?” Tommen was speaking softly, almost whispering. “What do you think?”

 

Ben cleared this throat, lowering himself jerkily to the floor. “I dunno. They seem alright, I guess.”

 

“You guess?” Juice had spoken quietly, but with all of her usual vigor. “Why do you guess?”

 

Ben shrugged crouching down to sit on his heels. “I…” He trailed off, looking around towards Sandor as though for help, and just shrugged again.

 

“We can’t know. That’s the problem, I suppose.” Sansa had sat down beside Ben, the bundle of supplies in her lap. She had held up the jar, looking fixedly at it. “We won’t know until we know.”

 

Nobody else seemed to want to say anything after that. One by one, they lowered themselves to the floor, backs against the wall. Once again, Sandor found himself with little room to spare, shoulder to shoulder with Sansa to his left, Juice sitting too close for comfort on his right. He moved away from the girl, away from the uncomfortable almost-touch of her arm against his. Sansa was a warm presence beside him, and he reached over to take the jar from her.

 

“It’s sealed.” She was a pair of eyes in a darkly pale face, the hair curtaining her cheeks seeming almost black in the gloom of the room. The jar did feel as though it were sealed, but it wasn’t the sort that you could get in the store. It looked more like the kind you could buy from the farmers that sometimes sold their wares by the side of the road.

 

When the lid came off, several pairs of hands reached forward, and at least one jerked back from reaching into the jar. Sandor did not share their apprehension; there were simpler ways of killing the unarmed. The jar proved to hold a mixture of vegetables; of tomatoes and pepper slices and corn. It settled well, and though it had likely been in the jar for a while, it tasted fresher than anything they’d had.

 

Once he had taken the first taste, whatever hesitation the others had evaporated. The jar passed from hand to hand, fingers dipping inside. Juice was the first to sit back, sucking the excess off of her fingers, followed soon after by Sansa. He and the two boys finished off the meal, passing the jar between them to drink the liquid that remained.

 

“Let’s go now. Before it gets any darker.” Juice glanced between Tommen and Ben, rising to her feet. They had always gone in their groups before, but now was not before.

 

Ben had quietly asked about the candle, but Sansa had sharply shaken her head, and no one contradicted her. It was dark in the hallway, and the tiled bathroom was nearly pitch black. Sandor hesitated before ducking inside, and he could hear the others pause too. For a long moment, no one seemed to breath. But no sound came from the room but the steady thudding of the rain on the roof, and dark outlines slowly made themselves known under his gaze. 

 

There were buckets in the stalls, that thankfully smelled as though they were emptied often. They went into the stalls one at a time, standing a silent guard for one another in turn. When Ben, the last of them to take his turn, closed the door behind him, Sansa sidled up beside Sandor. He glanced downwards, but couldn’t see much in the gloom. She took his hand, and drew it up as though to press a kiss to it.

 

When he felt the cold press of metal against his fingers, some of the tightness left his shoulders. Sansa released his hand, and he pulled it from beneath her sleeve.

 

Good.

 

Back in their shared room, they gathered together in a corner, removing bags from their shoulders. If Sandor had hoped that Juice and Sansa had been privy to some information that he and the others had not, he was disappointed. They were tense, the both of them, but no more than they should be.

 

Most of their blankets were back in the distant car, with most of their supplies. But Sansa, Sandor, and Tommen all had something to sleep under. In the coolness of the room, Sansa settled down under their combined blankets, one small hand against his back, warm through the borrowed shirt. Her fingers shifted the cloth, He wanted to turn, and look at her.

 

Juice murmured something to his left, and Sandor closed his eyes as Ben answered. He let out a long breath. Fuck them for existing. How long would it be until they got another chance like this? Another locked door, between them and whoever else was out there?

 

Pushing himself to his feet, and away from her hand, he made his way towards the door. Ben and Juice might be making themselves comfortable under the remaining blankets, but Tommen hadn’t joined them. He was sitting beside the window, pack in his lap. 

 

Sandor had known that the door was locked, but checking was good in any case. Tommen glanced up at his approach, paper rustling in his hands. Sandor lowered himself to the ground beside him. When had the boy gotten that back from Sansa? He watched Tommen put it away, wrapping it carefully in the layer upon layer of plastic.

 

Tommen scratched at his chin, at the wisps of pale hair that grew there. “You didn’t tell them.” 

 

“You either.”

 

Tommen shrugged. “When we leave, I guess.”

 

“I guess.”

 

Tommen looked sharply up at him, and Sandor shook his head. This wasn’t the time to explain. He was too fucking tired for that. And Sansa was back there, laid out and waiting for him. Not that he could do anything tonight but feel her next to him, but even that was more than they’d got sleeping in the car. And he it wouldn’t do to have her pulling away from him. Not tonight.

 

“I just think-” He looked Tommen in the eye. He had grown, was taller and broader now, with the pale sprout of hair growing from his chin, but it was easy enough to see the chubby, trembling boy he had been. Easy enough to remember the way he had shadowed Sandor after the first few months of his employ, and how he had asked, voice quavering, if he could please, please, not let Joff hurt his kittens. “I think we should all look out for each other.”

 

His glance towards Sansa conveyed his meaning. Tommen’s mouth turned down at the corners. Sandor shrugged. “I can’t be everywhere.” And of all these children, hardened though they were by this new world, it was Tommen who would be best to ask. Juice was a kitten who thought she was a lioness, and both she and Ben would look to their own friends before he or Sansa. But Tommen- Tommen knew whom he owed, and how much. He’d been there the day that Sandor had pulled Joffrey off Myrcella.

 

He nodded, eyes on Sandor’s own. “We’ll all watch each other’s backs.”

 

Sandor rose to his feet, and moved over to settle himself beside Sansa. Her eyes were open, and she watched him almost curiously as he put the blankets over what bits of him they would cover.

 

“Do you think they’re decent? These people?” Her eyes said that she wasn’t all that sure. Maybe her brief taste of the road had taught her something after all.

 

Sandor shrugged, easing an arm around Sansa’s narrow shoulders. She squirmed herself comfortable against him, and he allowed his hand to dip lower, caressing the smooth curve of her hip, the flat plane of her stomach. She hissed quietly at him when his hand threatened to drop still lower, and he ceased his movements with a sigh. Bad idea.

 

“Could be.” Or could not be. He’d seen his fair share of communities before, though all smaller and more ragged seeming than this. Most had been well pleased to see the back of the likes of him, and the wiser for it. And the others- they’d had uses for him that he hadn’t much liked, or else something had gone to shit before long.

 

“They’ve got a good place. With that wall. It’s a good place to rest up for a bit. A few days.” When he did not answer her, she merely drew closer, breath evening as she prepared for sleep.

 

Yes, for a few days. Or a few more. Time had ways of turning out that way. If the two hunters had been honest in their telling of this place, they would see that soon. And if they had been- there were worse places to shelter from the shitstorm outside of these walls.


End file.
